


no dawn, no day

by sleeponrooftops



Series: how big, how blue, how beautiful [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In their second year of interplanetary space travel to reach Europa, the Icarus team encounter the asteroid belt, the ancient tale of homo sapiens in battle, and the Galilean moons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes —
> 
> i. Same rules apply as before. See previous fic for series notes.
> 
> ii. I have music recommendations if you want, as well. I listened mostly to the We Bought a Zoo soundtrack, for no reason, while writing this, along with a lot of Ms Mr. And Florence and the Machine, but that’s always happening.
> 
> iii. Okay, so last one was eleven chapters, this one will be twelve since we actually get to hang out in all twelve months. AND WE’RE HALFWAY THERE.

_December 30, 2072_

_Icarus_

_0400 hours_

Sam sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face as he glares tiredly at the coffee machine.  Bucky had woken him up two hours ago via these awful, gulping breaths that shattered the quiet of the night around them.  He’d still been asleep, but teetering close to a terror rather than a nightmare, so Sam had coaxed him awake and then curled around him, whispering to him until he finally started to calm down.

 

He’s starting to think it’s high time they told Steve what’s going on, that Bucky has been having nightmares on and off since the storm, but Bucky keeps pleading with him, and so, he keeps losing sleep.  Now, he’s wandering the halls like a ghost, haunting his regular spots—the kitchen for coffee, the flight deck for a quick systems check, and then the operations console to stare at space until it’s nearing six, and he knows Steve will be up with Tony soon—fuckers think they’re so sneaky—and then he’s back to Bucky, convincing him to get up for the day.

 

The coffee machine gurgles at him, spits out something black and nasty, and so he dumps in a few things hanging around nearby until he finally spots one of Wanda’s cinnamon sticks, and he grabs one of those, stirring while he heads out of the kitchen.

 

He never makes it to the operations console.

 

Sam is halfway through a granola bar, his coffee sealed away tightly beneath a lid, and both hit the ground when he walks onto the flight deck and sees it flooded with red light.

 

“Shit,” is all he manages to say before he’s stooping to pick up his fallen breakfast.  He shoves the rest of the granola bar in his mouth and chases it with coffee as he drops into his seat and starts throwing some water over the fire raging through their systems.

 

There are enough warnings blaring that it takes him a solid fifteen minutes before Sam realizes what the issue is.  He’d been so busy trying to calm the tidal wave of every potential outcome that Icarus was predicting that he didn’t bother to check their trajectory, which has been altered.

 

Sam sits, fingers poised over the keyboard, as he blinks at the numbers.

 

“That’s not—” but he can’t finish his sentence because he can’t understand how this happened.

 

Sam gets up, pacing away from his dashboard to rifle through his desk until he finds his earphone, tablet, and notebook.  He taps the earphone in, waits until he hears the telltale noise of Jarvis reconnecting, and says, “Anyone awake?”

 

He opens up a program on his tablet, setting it down while he waits for it to load, and then sits on his desk, paging through his notebook until he reaches his last set of flight numbers.  He checks them every morning, records them every other day, and the only time they deviated was during the storm.

 

“What the fuck,” he mutters, tossing his notebook to the side and reaching for his tablet, which has finished loading a program so slow that he calls it _Dark Age_.  There’s a message waiting for him there from Riley.

 

_Riley: Dude, where the fuck are you guys going, Io?_

Sam’s brow furrows as he stares at it.  This can’t be happening.

 

_Sam: Let me check, but this might be a code war._

He knows the message will take _eons_ to get there, and so he goes back over to his flight chair and just frowns at the numbers.

 

No one has answered him yet, and so Sam pulls up the group chat.

 

_Sam: Anyone awake?_

Sam waits three minutes before he starts rerouting them, and there are enough obstacles in his way that his fingers start to strike the keys a little harder.

 

_Tony: where are you_

Sam sighs.  Really, he’d been aiming for Steve, but he knows that Tony is the person he needs.

 

_Sam: Flight deck.  Hurry?_

_Tony: no pants dance_

He ignores what that might mean and instead gets back to work, finally giving up and saying, “Jay, help me out a bit.”

 

“Sorry, sir, I have been asked to stand down.”

 

“Stand—what the—is this a fucking conspiracy?”

 

“I don’t like that word,” Tony mumbles over the comms, “Be quiet, you’ll wake my ship.”

 

He comes yawning into the flight deck, walks right through the red light flooded room, and stops at Sam’s chair, squinting down at the illuminated dashboard.  “That’s not right,” Tony says, rubbing at one of his eyes, “Why are we flying that way?”

 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Sam says, and then a firewall charges up to yell at him, and he throws his hands into the air, sinking back into his chair.  “This is your fucking ship.  _Fix it_ ,” he seethes, gaze snapping up to Tony, who points a finger at him.

 

“I’m at 9%,” he says, “Make me coffee.”

 

Sam doesn’t even argue, just concedes his chair and goes back in the direction of the kitchen.  He mutters to himself the whole way, and then he turns out of the kitchen, and the whole ship plunges into red light.  He stops, looking around warily.

 

“Okay, I’m awake,” Tony says softly over the comms, “What the fuck is going on?  Also, your tablet is beeping.”

 

Sam hurries back to the flight deck, deposits Tony’s coffee in an outstretched hand, and swears at his tablet.

 

_Riley: Dude, this is deep.  This is going to take hours to resolve.  I called Clint._

“That’s interesting,” Tony says from behind him, “Advanced tech.”

 

Sam grits his teeth, but doesn’t turn around.  “It’s archaic,” he tries to play it off.

 

“You’re almost communicating in real time.  What’s the delay?”

 

“Twenty-six minutes.”

 

Tony whistles.  “Dude, that’s impressive.  Did you build it?”

 

Sam fights with himself on whether or not to let Tony in, and, ultimately, he figures he’s probably better to have as a friend than someone suspicious.  “Riley and I came up with it together.”

 

Tony studies him for a moment, and then asks, “Special ops?” as he walks away.

 

Sam nods at his retreating figure.  “Yeah, before I met Steve.”

 

“Oh,” Tony croons, sitting again, “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

 

“Not much,” Sam admits, dropping his tablet on the desk and following Tony, taking Bucky’s seat, “Life just got a lot quieter when I met Steve.  Missions took on a different tone, and it wasn’t as much about getting the intel as it was saving lives.  Steve’s a little—life-changing sometimes.”

 

Tony snorts, but doesn’t comment, and Sam fights a grin.  They’re quiet for a moment, Tony sipping his coffee until he finally says, “Okay, so—this sucks.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “Can you contain it to just the flight deck before everyone wakes up so Johnny doesn’t panic himself into a full on fit again?”

 

“Why, you don’t want to have to quote another Harry Potter movie?”  Sam gawks at him.  “What?” Tony says, not looking at him, “I can be a culture nerd as well as a science one.”

 

“That’s deep level undercover culture nerd shit,” Sam says, “I never would have pegged you for _Harry Potter_.  Wait.  Do you like Jurassic Park?”

 

“That’s a dumb question,” Tony says, downing the rest of his coffee before he folds his legs beneath him.

 

“Even the ones after the original trilogy?” Sam challenges, smirking.

 

“Shut up,” Tony mutters.

 

Sam howls with laughter.

 

——

 

_January 1, 2073_

_0200 hours_

“It is too fucking early for you to be sending me cryptic messages,” Tony grumbles as he staggers onto the flight deck, sans pants.  He’s wearing something that resembles spandex, but it doesn’t go much past the top of his thighs, though he is wearing an oversized sweatshirt with NASA’s logo across the front.

 

Sam turns, mouth open to speak, and sees him.  His hair is wild, sticking up in all sorts of ridiculous angles, and he’s halfway into a yawn.

 

“That’s Steve’s sweatshirt,” Sam says casually.

 

Tony levels him with a glare that suggests he’s more awake than he’s leading on, and then he clambers into Bucky’s seat, tucking his knees in under the sweatshirt, just his feet poking out as he starts mumbling softly to Jarvis, who pulls up screens and inputs commands for him.

 

“What the hell is code war?” Tony asks only after Sam has gotten him coffee.

 

“This,” Sam says, gesturing at hand around at their numbers and screens strewn everywhere.

 

“Elaborate,” Tony says, letting his head rest against the seat as he looks over at him blearily.

 

“How do you work when you’re so tired?”

 

“As you can see,” Tony says, “Jarvis is doing most of the legwork currently.  Listen, you wanna be sneaky creepy about this, don’t ask me about my methods.”

 

“Do you sleep more now that you’re not in your own bed?”

 

“I will fucking _flay_ you,” Tony says, and his voice drips enough venom that Sam laughs and goes back to his numbers.

 

——

 

_January 7, 2073_

_0900 hours_

_Steve: One year meeting at 1300 hours._

_Peter: I vote we talk about why access to the flight deck has been revoked for the past week._

_Tony: OR_

_Bruce: Or the fact that none of you have turned in your mental health assessments._

_Natasha: booooooo_

_Sam: Aw, why’d you have to get so serious so fast?_

_Natasha: Dumb._

_Bruce: Official repercussions are now a mental health session of unspecified time for anyone who does not complete it in the next two hours._

_Johnny: Meeting’s not until 1300!_

_Bruce: And your mental health is on the table, so I’d like to read them with due time to process how shitty all of you are._

_Tony: Your inner Tony is coming out._

_Tony: Have a Snickers._

_Bruce: Two hours, asshole._

_Tony: One time, before Nat was cool, she did a mental health assessment of me._

_Natasha: Don’t do this to yourself._

_Tony: It was really fun.  She called me a narcissist._

_Sam: I mean.  Yeah?_

_Natasha: Really, you’re going down a rabbit hole you can’t get back out of._

_Tony: She recommended me without recommending me._

_Tony: I’M MORE THAN MY TECH, GUYS._

_Bucky: Yeah, you took an engineering class once._

_Betty: DO YOU WANT SOME ICE_

_Betty: for that burnnnnnn_

_Wanda: You’re my new favorite._

_Natasha: Better hide quick._

_Peter: Don’t follow the lights!_

_Johnny: Okay, really.  You’ve seen Lord of the Rings, and not Star Trek?_

_Bruce: Yeah, I don’t need a mental health assessment from you, Peter.  I’m marking you down as disturbed._

_Tony: How the fuck haven’t you seen Star Trek?_

_Tony: I have seventeen PhDs, and I’ve seen every fucking adaptation._

_Natasha: Wanda, you have to break up with him, this isn’t okay._

_Sam: Jay, check for signs of life._

_Sam: Oh, weird.  There’s someone without a heartbeat._

_Peter: WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME_

_Steve: Star Wars is better._

_Peter: YES_

_Tony: OKAY, LISTEN._

_Sam: ooooooooooh_

_Bucky: I’ll see myself out._

_Sam: E tu, Brute?_

_Natasha: wait_

_Wanda: WAIT_

_Natasha: You’re a Shakespeare nerd?_

_Sam: Should I be afraid?_

_Betty: Step into our office._

_Sam: GUYS THE MEAN GIRLS LIKE ME_

——

 

_1300 hours_

As Steve comes into the operations console, it’s to find that no one’s there.  He frowns, looking around, and he’s just about to pull out his phone when Wanda comes in with a tray of something that smells heavenly, leading Sam and Natasha, who are both carrying something, as well.  Nat smacks his hand when Steve tries to speak, and then they’re left waiting for everyone to arrive.

 

When they’re all gathered, Natasha says, “Wanda made cookies.”

 

“They’re _space_ cookies,” Sam says delightedly, pulling off the cover of one of the trays.

 

“They might taste weird,” Wanda admits, “They were a bit tricky to make.”

 

“You’re amazing,” Peter says, grabbing two.

 

“I’ll bite,” Tony says, taking two and handing one to Steve, “How?”

 

“There was premade cookie dough and blowtorches involved,” Wanda says, and even Steve smiles.

 

“Okay,” Steve says after they’ve each grabbed a cookie, “Bruce.”

 

“I have—six mental health assessments, and so I’ll be taking appointments for the rest of the week.  Sam, Natasha, and Steve, I’ll need to sit with you.”

 

“Six plus three equals nine,” Natasha points out.

 

“Tony is exempt,” Bruce says, “He has weekly check-ups, which are none of your business,” he adds when Natasha makes to keep speaking, “Sam, I know you’ve been busy, but this is a requirement.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Sam says, “I honestly straight up forgot, and then we were making cookies.”

 

“Not an excuse,” Bruce says, “Nat, I know you’re just being an asshole, so Steve’s stuck you with me right after this.  Too bad,” he says, pointing a finger at her, “Steve, we’ll catch up later.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve says, nodding in his direction.

 

“Other than that, everyone looks good.  Gravitational and radiation testing are going well.”

 

“Excellent.  Ladies?”

 

“Kind of bored, actually,” Betty admits, “There are only so many experiments you can do before it starts to become repetitive.  I mean, I know that NASA predicted we would start to run out of things to do around year two, but I’m worried about what that’s going to mean for year three.”

 

“I know,” Steve says, “We’re starting to enter unchartered waters.  Yes, the Ares III crew was in space for over two years, but a lot of that was spent planning how to get Watney back, or dealing with the fact that they’d left someone behind on Mars.  Our year two looks a lot different than theirs.”

 

“Plus,” Peter says, “We’re about to hit the asteroid belt.”

 

“What?” Sam says, looking over at him.

 

“Uh, yeah?” Peter says, “I thought you were our pilot?”

 

“Secondary,” Sam says, though he does it softly, “I hadn’t—Tony.”

 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Tony says, ignoring the others as he drops a tablet onto the table and starts typing.

 

Steve doesn’t say anything, and that’s when it occurs to Sam.  “You told him, you dickhat,” Sam says, turning to Tony.

 

“Of course I did, he’s our captain,” Tony says without looking up.

 

“I was waiting to see if you could find anything else out,” Steve says, looking to Sam, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring it to you sooner.”

 

“How much do you know?”

 

“Everything, though, admittedly, I knew about the _Dark Age_ program before Tony did.”

 

“What?” Tony and Sam say at the same time, staring at him.

 

“What the fuck is going on?” Peter interrupts, “What do you all know?”

 

“Icarus is off course,” Steve says calmly, and the table erupts.  He doesn’t let it get too far before he’s speaking again, “We’re working on it.”

 

“Bullshit,” Bucky spits, rounding on Sam, “You are my _copilot_ , and you didn’t tell me?”

 

“You were—” Sam breaks off, doing his level best not to glance at Steve, and Bucky sees it, deflating a little.  “I’m sorry,” he amends, “We were trying to keep it under wraps until we could figure it out, and we still haven’t.”

 

“How off course?” Bucky asks, turning back to Steve.

 

It’s Tony that responds, “Shifting toward Io.”

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Johnny says, pushing away from the table.

 

“We’re working on it,” Steve says again, firmer this time, “We’ll fix this.”

 

“How?” Natasha asks.

 

Silence follows her question, and then, finally, “We don’t know.”

 

——

 

_1500 hours_

Steve looks up as there’s a knock on his door, and he half expects it to be Tony that walks through, but it’s Natasha who steps inside.  “Can I talk to you?” she asks.

 

“Sure,” Steve says, starting to stand, but Nat waves him away and goes to sit on his bed.

 

She’s uncharacteristically quiet at first, perched on the edge of his bed, looking down at her hands, swallowed by a sweatshirt too big, and Steve frowns.  It’s one of Clint’s, one of the few mementos she has of him because she was so adamant on not missing him, and he can see it now, how hard this has been for her.  She clutches at the edge of one sleeve, pulling at it with her other hand.  When Steve gets up, she leans into the hood, closing her eyes as she inhales, and though it can’t possibly smell like him, it’s comforting.

 

“Nat,” he says softly, sitting next to her.

 

“I just—” she says, her voice cracking.  Steve wraps an arm around her, and she leans into him, letting out a breath that shakes.

 

“It’s just me,” he says, “Just Steve, not your captain.  Whatever you need.”

 

“You promised me that I would go home to him,” Natasha whispers, not looking up.

 

“I know,” Steve says, rubbing a hand over her arm, “I promise, Nat, I’m going to do everything in my power to make that happen.”

 

“We’re not even on the right fucking path,” she says, and that’s when she starts to lose control, “We’re headed toward— _Io_.  We’ve not done nearly the amount of research on Io that we have on Europa, and you don’t even know how to fix it, how it even happened.  Are they working around the clock?  Are they working  _right now_  to fix it?  Does NASA know?  What is going to happen to us?  _Steve_.”

 

“Can I—”

 

“Yes,” she exhales, lifting her knees and leaning into him.

 

Steve wraps both arms around her, shifting her closer until they’re actually on the bed, and he holds her, rubbing circles in her back as she composes herself, letting a few tears escape before she’s swallowing them down.

 

They sit there for some time, just breathing in the nearness of one another, until Natasha says, “Do you remember our first flight together?”

 

Steve smiles fondly.  “To ISS, yeah.  You and Clint bickered the whole time until we were taking off, and then, as soon as we were out of Earth’s orbit, you kept going.”

 

“You were  _singing_.”

 

“I was pretending I was alone,” Steve admits, and Natasha laughs before she straightens, offering him a small smile.

 

“Thank you,” she says softly.

 

“We’re trying to figure it out,” Steve says, “NASA knows.  They’re doing everything they can to figure out why Icarus won’t accept the corrected flight pattern.  We both think there’s a corrupt— _something_  in our system, and we’re trying to identify it.”

 

“Why is it taking so long?” Natasha asks, “If the flight deck has been off limits for a week, I assume we’ve been off course for about as long.”

 

“She’s fighting Sam and Tony with everything they attempt.  It makes no sense.”

 

“Icarus is fighting them?” Natasha asks, her brow furrowing.

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, shaking his head, “I don’t get it.  I mean, I know she has some artificial intelligence, but it’s nothing like Jarvis, but it’s enough that even he can’t get in.  She’s throwing everything she has against us.”

 

“Steve,” Natasha says, “I’ve seen the code on this ship.  Icarus isn’t that smart.  Tony did it on purpose, kept her at a lower level because he was afraid of what a self-sufficient ship might produce.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, looking over to the door, frowning, “It’s almost like—” but he trails off, shaking his head again.

 

“It’s too human,” Natasha says, and Steve looks at her.

 

“Someone else is doing this,” Steve says even as Natasha starts nodding.

 

“You have to keep this quiet,” Nat says quickly, standing up, “No one.  Not even Sam and Tony.”

 

“What if they can find it?  What if they’re able to reverse it?”

 

“What if it’s one of them?” Nat asks, “I’m sorry, Steve, but I’ve been trained to see the worst in people, and you have to think like that right now.  You have to be wary of everyone until you can figure it out.”

 

“Bruce,” Steve says, “He can help.”

 

Natasha frowns, but nods.  “Maybe he should do mandatory in-person evals, see how everyone is coping.”

 

“Can you ask Clint to look in on his end?”

 

“Absolutely,” Nat says, already heading for the door, “Let me know if you need me to step in.”  She throws a wink over her shoulder, and despite the gravity of the situation, Steve laughs quietly.  When she’s gone, he sends out a private message to Bruce and waits.

 

——

 

_1600 hours_

“Okay,” Steve says, coming onto the flight deck, “Let’s work the problem.”

 

Tony, Bucky, and Sam all look over at him, their previous loud conversation filtering off until Sam finally straightens away from his desk and says, “Icarus is now almost directly on a route to Io.”

 

“But,” Tony says, pointing a pen at Sam, “It’s fixable.”

 

“Currently?” Steve asks.

 

“No,” Tony says, “There is—fuck, I don’t know, _something_ , that’s being an asshole, and I’m having trouble getting around it, which is pissing me off, first of all, but second of all, I’m organizing a hack team.”

 

“Okay,” Steve says, “Who and what?”

 

“Nat, Peter, and Wanda.  They’re going to dive in with me, unplugged from the rest of the team, and we’re going to strip Icarus apart until we can find the virus.  I’ve identified that much, at least.  It’s deep, Steve, like—shit, I haven’t seen something this advanced in a while.  This is—” Tony breaks off, blinking at Steve.

 

“Yes?” Steve prompts.

 

“It’s just—this is kind of like what I was working on, _years_ ago,” Tony says slowly, “It was basic, then, though, and this wasn’t the application, a fucking sabotage of a deep space mission, but it was a severe hack.”  He frowns for a moment, but then shakes his head, face clearing.  “I’m sure it’s nothing.  I put that away a long time ago, so—yeah, focusing on the present.  The four of us will extricate and destroy.”

 

“Good.  And once we’ve done that?” Steve asks, turning to his pilots.

 

“Easy as pie,” Sam says, “We reroute.”

 

“Not so easy,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes when Sam makes a face at him, “I’m not lying to him about this.  Rerouting is going to take some serious effort on our part.  It would almost be easier if we had outside help, but obviously, we’re—far away,” he settles with, and Tony hides his grin as he turns away.

 

Sam sighs, but says, “We can do it.  We just need time.”

 

“How close are we to the asteroid belt?”

 

“We’ll make it in time,” Bucky says.

 

“How close?”

 

“Too close,” Tony says, “But they’ll be able to do it.  We all will.  We just—we have to, so we will.”

 

Steve pauses, looking at each of them in turn before he nods and says into the comms, “Peter, Wanda, please report to Tony for direction.  Nat, when you’re finished with your current assignment, please join them.  Bruce will be holding mandatory psych evals for the rest of the day, and all of you are required to go, despite our current situation.”  Before anyone can speak in the flight deck, he adds, “Buck, can I talk to you?”

 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Bucky says, already stepping away from the desk.  He follows Steve out of the flight deck, and immediately starts talking when they’re out of earshot, “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier, during the meeting, I shouldn’t have blown up like that, I just—”

 

“Bucky,” Steve says sharply, cutting him off, and then they’re left in silence until they’ve reached Steve’s room, and he shuts the door, locking it behind them.  “Bruce is running psych evals to see if it’s someone on the ship.”

 

Bucky digests this, staring at Steve, before he says, “Do you seriously think someone on Icarus would try to—kill us?  Because that’s what’s happening.  If we can’t figure this out, and we end up on fucking _Io_ , Steve, I don’t know what will happen, if this current trajectory will even get us safely through the asteroid belt.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Steve says, “But it’s an option we have to consider.  Only you and Nat know about these suspicions, though, and I need you to keep it quiet.”

 

“You also want me to reach out to Rebecca,” Bucky says, already nodding, “Okay, I’ll send her something, have her start digging.”

 

“Quietly,” Steve reminds him.

 

“I’ve got this,” Bucky assures him, clapping him on the shoulder, “Don’t worry.”

  
He leaves before Steve can say anything else, and though he hates himself for thinking it, a flare of joy sparks through him at the thought that Steve trusted him with this information and not Tony.

 

——

 

_January 9, 2073_

_0200 hours_

“Fucking Christ on a fucking wet cracker,” Tony grinds out before he whips his tablet across the room.  Peter jumps when it crashes against the wall, the case snapping off and clattering to the ground as the tablet folds in on itself, shattering apart.

 

Natasha starts to yell at him as she turns to him, and immediately swallows it down when she sees him, head in his hands, fingers fisting in his hair.  He’s doing everything he can not to let his shoulders shake, but it still comes through, and Natasha deflates, frowning.

 

“Tony,” she sighs, coming across the room and, to everyone’s utter surprise, she winds her arms around him, leaning down against him, hiding her face in his neck.  “It’s okay,” she whispers.

 

“It’s not fucking okay,” he spits.  Natasha’s hold tightens when he tries to shrug her off.  “Nat,” he says furiously.

 

“It’s okay,” she repeats, “It’s not your fault.”

 

He pushes harder, but Natasha just lifts her face, tucks her chin over his shoulder, and squeezes him.  “I’m stronger than you,” she reminds him, and Tony gives up, sagging forward into his hands again.  “I know this is difficult, not being able to fix this.”

 

“What am I doing wrong?” he mumbles.

 

“Nothing,” Nat says, rubbing her hands over his arms, “This is more than you’ve ever had to go up against, and it’s fighting back.  We’re going to figure it out together.  Stop beating yourself—and your tech—up, okay?”

 

“I just—”

 

“I don’t give a shit,” Natasha says, “This is how it is.  Calm down.”

 

“But—”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Tony.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Natasha stays with him, not talking, just leaning her head against his, grounding him as he lets his anger seep out.  When some of the tension has left his body, Natasha stands up and starts digging her fingers in around his shoulders, smiling when his head tips forward.  “Talk to me,” she says.

 

“It’s fucking—familiar,” Tony says.

 

The air in the room shifts.

 

Wanda looks over from the top bunk of Tony’s bed, fingers splayed over the top of her laptop as she pulls the screen back.  Peter keeps typing because he has headphones in, but Jarvis throws up a firewall at him, and he stops, yanking out one headphone to speak until he sees the way Natasha is standing, her whole body tight, feet unconsciously stepped apart as though she’s preparing to fight.

 

“You need to start explaining,” Natasha says, her voice low and quiet.  Tony starts to get up, but Natasha’s hands pin him down, holding him there.  “Not a chance,” she says, “If this is because of you, I will rip your fucking spine out.”

 

“Okay, fuck you,” Tony snaps, and then he’s out from under Natasha’s hands, delivering a fast, nasty blow that she almost, _almost_ , deflects.  It catches her on the jaw, and then she comes one breath away from breaking Tony’s arm.

 

“Jesus!” Peter exclaims, tossing his laptop to the side, “What the fuck, Nat!”

 

“Is it you?” Natasha seethes, pressing close to Tony as he clenches his jaw, trying to lean out of her twist.

 

“No, of course it’s not me,” Tony says, his voice laced with pain and fury, “But it was me, a long time ago.”

 

“That’s not the kind of explanation I’m looking for,” Natasha says, bringing his hand farther up his back, and Tony finally breaks, letting out a short noise as he closes his eyes.

 

“It’s my code,” he says, “From—from—I don’t know, a fucking decade ago.  The base line is still there, but I thought—”

 

“You thought wrong, clearly,” Natasha says, finally releasing him.  Tony massages his shoulder as he glares at her, putting distance between them.  “Who is it?” Nat asks.

 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Tony says, and that’s what hurts the most.  It isn’t that he can’t fix this, it’s that he doesn’t know how.  “I don’t know,” he repeats, “But it’s—it has to be someone I knew.”

 

“Why were you even building something like this?” Wanda asks, frowning, “What kind of tech were you into?”

 

“Weapons,” Peter answers for him, “But you got out of that.”

 

“I did,” Tony agrees, “About a month after I created the base line for this code, I was fucking kidnapped and told to build one of _my_ missiles, or I would die.  This code got locked away with all the other shit that I was working on at that time, and I never looked back at it.”

 

“Well,” Nat says, jerking a hand toward his desk, “Someone did, so start hacking yourself, you _bastard_.”

 

Though there are a dozen different things Tony wants to spit at her, he knows what this is, knows where her anger is coming from, and so he bites them back and instead tries to get into the side of his brain he’s been trying to forget for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I know I said I wasn't going to post this until Monday, but then I did it anyway. Mostly, I'm having a wretched day at work, and I just want to share this with you guys. Also, I started reading our next book for book club, which I picked, which is _An Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth_ by Col. Chris Hadfield, and _woah_. It's so good, and I only just finished the introduction. I was feeling a little bleh about this story this week, too, particularly after writing the horror au (we're getting there), but this definitely reinvigorated me.
> 
> THE HORROR AU. Do any of you like horror movies? If you do, you should definitely go check out my new fic, [with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7264156/chapters/16493713), which will be five chapters in total and feature deaths of _all_ of the major characters. Every single one. I had a ton of fun writing it this week, and I can't wait to get to the scary parts coming up in it.
> 
> However, back to the space au. Dun, dun, duhhhhhhh. What's going on? Oh my gosh! Leave me all your theories, I'm dying to know what you guys think of this plot twist. AND OH MY GOD THE PLOT TWIST THAT'S COMING UP, I wish I could tell you, it's so exciting, Erin and I were _besides ourselves_ coming up with it. Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the helm of year two, the crew of Icarus is about to be thrown for another wild turn.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: natasharomanoff]_

_[password: kissmyassnasa]_

_Message Subject: Hey, hot stuff._

Natasha smiles at the subject line, pulling the sleeves of Clint’s sweatshirt over her hands.  They’re taking a small break from attacking Icarus, and she’d been so overjoyed at the idea of seeing him that she hadn’t even bothered to hide her excitement when she took her laptop and hurried off.

 

Now, her smile grows when the video starts playing, and he’s not only wearing her favorite— _favorite_ —Pac Man shirt, he also has on her NASA sweatpants that she’d absolutely refused to buy and then constantly worn when he had bought them for her.  He’s outside, barefoot, and hands covered in dirt when it starts playing.

 

“Okay,” he says, flashing her a smile before he continues weeding, “I’ve got messages for everyone from everyone, and they’re all fucking cryptic, and you guys better be okay because I am sick to death of having to answer eighteen thousand phone calls from Aunt May asking me why NASA is trying to kill her son.  So, we’ll do that first.”

 

Clint lifts an arm, wiping sweat from his forehead, and Natasha shakes her head, smiling fondly, when he smears dirt across his face.  “Shut up,” he says, “Rebecca called last night, said that, ready for this, it’s not NASA, it’s _NASA_.”  Clint pauses, looks over to the camera, and gives Natasha his best expression of deadpan disbelief.  She laughs, and he must know that it would work, because he grins.  “Yeah, that’s exactly what she said, with that emphasis, so you can let Bucky figure that one out.  Then, Rhodey called a few days ago, said—shit, hang on.”

 

Natasha watches him stand, the camera jerking up to follow his face, and he’s frowning as he looks back toward the house.  Without warning, he looks back to her, his fingers flying through the air, and then the video is ending.

 

Natasha starts running.

 

——

 

_February 3, 2073_

_1700 hours_

“Shit,” Tony says as Clint’s video ends, “That’s—okay.”

 

“You know ASL?” Steve asks, looking at Tony in surprise.

 

“Of course I do,” Tony says, not meeting his gaze, “As soon as I met Clint, I started learning.  He’s sneaky about it, though.”

 

“He watches too many spy movies,” Natasha groans, “He likes to pretend he’s talking in code because he’s a loser.  Wait, do you know sign?” she asks Steve.

 

“Enough,” Steve says, “Though some of that was lost on me.”

 

“He told me to dig deep,” Tony says, “Like—before the Jericho missile deep.”

 

“Before the daughter,” Natasha says, “Do you understand that?”

 

“No,” Tony says, frowning, “But I’ll figure it out.  The other bit was for you, Steve.”

 

“I know,” Steve says, “Look in front of you.  Peggy used to say it to me all the time before we would leave on missions.  Everyone else was always worried about who might be sneaking up, and she was concerned about who was already there.  She thinks it’s a mole.”

 

“Well,” Nat says, “It’s not NASA, it’s _NASA_.”

 

“That was my favorite part of the video,” Tony says quietly.

 

“Shut up, I know you want to say something.”

 

“Does he wear all of your clothes?”

 

“I’ll punch that smirk into your spleen.”

 

“Get at me, Romanoff.”

 

——

 

_February 7, 2073_

_0600 hours_

 

Icarus groans, and then the power goes out on the whole ship, at once.

 

Tony’s voice echoes loudly across the comms, “FUCKING DID IT.”

 

There’s a sound like a small explosion, and then Peter, “Holy shit, that’s fire!”

 

“We’re fine!” Wanda shrieks, and Natasha just starts giggling in the background.

 

Steve spills his tea all over the floor of the operations console as he crashes out of his seat and out of the room.  He shouts his apologies even as Jarvis lets him know he’ll take care of it, and then he’s sprinting down the hall, through the dark on a well-worn path to Tony’s room.

 

He bursts in, a compliment on the tip of his tongue when he sees that Peter is _on fire_.  “Seriously, guys,” he sighs, going over to help Wanda put him out, shaking his head when he notices Peter grinning wildly.

 

“Why was there fire involved?” Steve asks tiredly.

 

“Stress test,” Natasha says calmly from where she’s relaxed on Tony’s bed, “I told Tony I would blow him up if he didn’t figure it out.  He didn’t believe me, so I built a bomb.”

 

“In space.”

 

“In space,” Natasha repeats.

 

“On a submarine, essentially.”

 

“If you’re referring to the fact that it could have killed us all, it was a very small bomb.”

 

“But,” Tony says, arms spread wide, “Original coordinates have been accepted.  Now it’s just a matter of rerouting.”

 

Steve sighs, lifting a hand to scrub at his face.  “Get out,” he says from behind his hand.

 

“Me too?” Tony asks.

 

“No,” Steve mumbles.  Peter high fives Wanda, his grin growing, and the three of them leave Steve alone with Tony.  When the door shuts behind them, Steve looks over at Tony, smiling.  “Thank you,” he says softly.

 

“Come on, I definitely deserve a better thank you than that,” Tony says, his smile getting a little wicked.

 

“I’m tired,” Steve says, but he crosses the room and crowds Tony against his desk, kissing him slowly.  Tony softens beneath him, hands coming up to curl around his shoulders, holding onto him as Steve takes away some of his tension.  When he finally releases him, Steve leans his forehead against Tony’s, his eyes still closed.

 

“Cap?” Sam comes over the comms.

 

“Back to work,” Tony says, leaning up to kiss him again, though it’s a short, careful thing.  “Do you need me still?” he asks, and Steve thinks this must be the first time Tony has ever admitted that he needs a break.

 

“Get some rest,” he says, and Tony’s smile is teetering over the edge of exhausted into half asleep, so he steps away from his desk and gives him a little push toward his bed.  “I’ll check in on you later,” Steve says even as Tony’s crawling under his blanket.

 

He meets Sam and Bucky on the flight deck where they’re comparing notes and trying to figure out a game plan.  “This is going to be rough,” Bucky says when he catches sight of Steve, “We’re just barely going to make it, and even then, it’s going to be hairy at times.  We’re flying through waters we haven’t mapped out.”

 

“How did we manage to get the most exciting space mission?” Sam asks as he heads over to his station, “I’ve read countless reports about how boring space travel can be at times, and even the Ares III crew said their journey to Mars was a piece of cake, and yet here we are, working through a conspiracy theory.”

 

“Tony doesn’t like that word,” Steve says without thinking.

 

Bucky frowns at him.

 

“That’s because he’s part of the conspiracy,” Sam says, pointing a threatening finger at Steve before he dumps into his seat, “Did he figure out who it was?”

 

“He’s asleep,” Steve admits, “But I don’t think so.  I need to talk to NASA.”  He starts to head for the exit, leaving them to plan.

 

“Enjoy that delay!” Sam calls after him, and then, when Steve’s gone, “Stop being an asshole.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky says, joining him, “I’m just wary.”

 

“Of Tony,” Sam says, “Stop it.  He’s part of the team.”

 

“He’s part of the problem,” Bucky says.

 

“Oh, what _ever_.  How old are you, thirteen?  Jesus,” Sam mutters, and Bucky doesn’t respond.

 

——

 

_0700 hours_

After Steve has gotten breakfast and more tea, he starts to set up in the operations console, but all he can see is the deep dark of space before them, and though he knows it all looks the same, it feels unfamiliar and like he’s being swallowed whole, and so he takes his laptop and leaves.

 

By the time he reaches Tony’s room, he feels a little less lost, and he wonders what that means, that just knowing he’s going to be near him makes the overwhelming vastness of space a little less all-consuming.  He’s not as concerned with what his face reveals when he’s with him.

 

Though he knows Tony is asleep, Steve still scans his prints into the door, listening to it unlock before he steps inside.  He’s quiet as he closes the door behind him and crosses the room, climbing up onto the top bunk.  Though he and Tony have individual rooms, each one is still built with the premise of two to a room in order to utilize as much space as possible.

 

He sets up here, back pressed against the wall, and legs folded as he powers up his laptop and drinks his tea while he waits.  When he finally logs into NASA’s chat program, he waits for the encryption code to finish before he plunges in.

 

_Reed: Steve, we saw the reports come through.  It looks like Icarus has accepted the original coordinates.  Can you confirm?_

_Steve: The hack team solved the virus this morning, and control of Icarus was readjusted to us.  We are still unsure of the culprit, but Icarus has been successfully rerouted.  It is now only a matter of carrying that out, which our pilots are nervous about._

The delay is lengthy this far out, and so Steve occupies himself reading through some of his emails from the last data dump, and he’s just finishing one from Sharon, smiling at some of her school things when he gets a response.

 

_Reed: That’s excellent news!  We are very happy to hear that.  We are still researching, but it appears that whoever installed and activated the hack is working here at NASA.  We are remaining diligent with our information, thus the continued encrypted chats.  We need to take every measure possible to make sure this mission continues without further upset.  Why are Bucky and Sam nervous?  How is the rest of the crew?_

_Steve: The reroute will be difficult to navigate.  They are concerned about the asteroid belt’s approach.  We have a short window to get Icarus back to where she should be.  We’ve been drifting off course for over a month.  It will take some hard work on their part to get us back on the planned trajectory in time.  I hope that there will be no more interruptions in our flight._

Steve pauses at that last question, unsure how to answer.  He’s concerned about giving NASA too much information now, with how they’ve been treated thus far, but he knows that he needs to give them something, at the very least.

 

_Steve: The crew is fine.  Responding predictably.  The hack team is officially on break.  All reports will resume in three days time after they have ensured our systems are safe and been given due time to recuperate._

He sends it as he hears Tony shift beneath him, and he leans over, looking down at him.  He’s on his other side, facing out now, and Steve smiles at how relaxed he looks.  It’s been different with him, different than anyone Steve has ever been with, and it feels like the kind of moment in his life that’s meant to last, that’s stronger simply because of who they are as a unit.

 

If he’s honest with himself, it’s a little terrifying, but Steve hasn’t felt alone since the first time he kissed Tony, and he would give anything not to go back to before—before him.

 

_Reed: That’s worrying.  We’ve looked into ways to help, but all of them would take too much time.  I hate to phrase it like this, but it seems like you’re alone on this one._

_Steve: We’re not alone.  We have each other._

Steve smiles, leaning back into the wall, letting his gaze drift up toward the ceiling.  He wonders, now that they’re finally moving past this crisis which of the many issues he should address first.  There are countless inappropriate things happening on Icarus, but he’s not sure he should even bother anymore.  He remembers, vividly, the first time he read the Hermes reports and followed the breadcrumbs right up until they were returning to Earth, and Beck was proposing to Johanssen.  He had been so utterly in awe of Lewis, letting that happen on her ship, and he had always vowed that he would strive to be as understanding as her, and here he is now, conspiring with the enemy.

 

Steve laughs aloud without meaning to, quickly checking to be sure he hasn’t woken Tony when he does.  After, he reads Reed’s response.

 

_Reed: We are all happy to hear that that is your response.  Steve, I have been tasked with the next unfortunate question.  My apologies.  We have received some concerning data.  Can you please confirm that all relationships onboard Icarus have been terminated, as this is a direct violation of NASA’s code of conduct?_

“Son of a bitch,” Steve mutters, staring at the screen.  He knows how Tony would respond, but he also knows that many of Europa Expedition’s Earth-bound team are watching him right now, and so he types carefully.

 

_Steve: The only relationship currently active is a pre-existing one._

Steve waits out the delay by staring at his screen, praying that Reed will just bite the bullet and accept his response.

 

_Reed: Duly noted.  Thank you.  Signing off._

Steve exhales relief before he shuts down his laptop, leaves it on the top bunk, and goes to join Tony on the bottom one, smiling when Tony murmurs incoherently and shifts closer to him, reaching back blindly for one of Steve’s arms to wrap around him.  Steve just presses a kiss to the nape of his neck and closes his eyes.

 

——

 

_February 12, 2073_

_2300 hours_

“It’s almost Valentine’s Day,” Wanda says softly, stretching.

 

“Oh no,” Johnny says, winding his arms tighter around her, “That’s not a thing.  We don’t do that.  Officially vetoed.”

 

“Seconded,” Peter mumbles into her ribs, “That’s a dumb holiday.”

 

“I have chocolate,” Wanda says, shifting until she can press back against Johnny, sliding a leg between his even as she pulls Peter back toward her, kissing him softly, and though he’s half asleep, he responds, humming as he leans up into her.

 

“Excuse me,” Johnny says, flicking Peter’s ear, “We’re talking about chocolate, not making out.  What kind?”

 

“Dark,” Wanda says, turning her head and kissing Johnny.

 

“I mean, okay,” Peter says happily, watching them, “So I’m more of a milk chocolate fan.”

 

Wanda and Johnny both groan before glaring at him.  “You can’t not like dark chocolate,” Johnny says.

 

“Double negative,” Wanda says, shrugging one shoulder, “Sorry, your argument is invalid.  But really, milk chocolate?”

 

“At least I didn’t say white chocolate.”

 

“Gross,” Johnny mutters, disappearing behind Wanda as he starts laying a wet trail across her shoulders, one of his hands sneaking across her thigh to reach for one of Peter’s, winding their fingers together.

 

“I really want to celebrate Valentine’s Day somehow,” Wanda says, her attention directed to Peter now.

 

“Okay,” he says around a yawn, “What do you wanna do?”

 

“Chocolate, sex, and a movie.”

 

“I am definitely down for two of those,” Johnny says, breath rushing out against her naked skin.

 

“You have to be down for all three, or I’m withholding,” Wanda threatens.

 

Johnny pauses, resting his temple against her spine.  “What movie?” he asks.

 

“I was thinking a _Purge_ marathon.”

 

“I’m awake,” Peter says, pushing upright and scooting closer as he kisses her, hand untangling from Johnny’s to drift over toward him, fingers skimming his hip as he tries to tug at him.

 

“Shit, you are my actual favorite person in the entire world,” Johnny says, tipping onto his back, legs splaying out as Wanda starts moving, too.

 

Eventually, they fall asleep.

 

——

 

_February 24, 2073_

_0800 hours_

They’re together when it happens.

 

The operations console is built to house all of them, but as Icarus is designed like Hermes, to remain in space while separate shuttles fly its astronauts to and from space, they’ve yet to come together like this, in their assigned seats, preparing for a flight maneuver.

 

Peter looks over at Johnny, reaching out a hand that Johnny takes, squeezing once and nodding before he leans over to do the same to Wanda, who blows a kiss to both of them, igniting smiles in return.  Betty sends Bruce something over a private channel that makes him laugh.  Natasha kicks the back of Sam’s chair until he threatens her with bodily harm.  Bucky glances at Steve, who nods, reaching over to lay a hand on his shoulder.  When he straightens again, he looks to Tony, waiting until Tony looks up, smiles, and says, “Systems check complete.”

 

“Proceeding with flight adjustment protocols,” Sam says.

 

“Communications strong,” Peter reports, “Jarvis, what’s up, my man?”

 

“Present and accounted for, Mister Parker.”

 

“Primary flight systems check complete,” Bucky reports, “Preparing for massive flight adjustment.  Everyone safe?”

 

“Safe as life,” Bruce says.

 

“Engines coming up in thirty,” Tony says, “Monitoring.  Please standby.”  Steve can hear them all counting in the way their breaths start to shift, and he closes his eyes, waiting for Tony’s voice to ring clear again, “Engines in ten—nine—eight—”

 

“Coordinates set,” Bucky says.

 

“Seven—six—”

 

“Hey guys,” Peter says, his voice strange, “Incoming frequency.”

 

“What?” Steve says, looking at him, but Peter’s head suddenly snaps around, staring out one of the windows.

 

“Five—four—”

 

“Holy _shit_ , there’s a ship out there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT.
> 
> I feel like this is a really appropriate cliffhanger ending to post after that _Game of Thrones_ finale last night. I AM SO ALIVE. That was beautiful, from start to finish. I cried so much. Don't go on my Tumblr if you haven't watched it, I'm spoiling shit left and right.
> 
> I really hope you guys like this subplot. Erin and I worked on it for a while before we could finally ties all the loose ends together and actually make it plausible, and I'm really freaking excited about it, so there's that. But! If you don't like it, please tell me why! I mean, obviously wait until it's actually explained (or not), but let me know what could be better/if it's too unrealistic/whatever is bothering you about it.
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Daedalus, the crew of Icarus tries to rearrange themselves accordingly and end up a little tangled.

_February 24, 2073_

_0800 hours_

It takes Steve approximately four seconds to process what Peter says, and then the quiet roar of Icarus coming to life shakes him to the core.

 

And then, there’s this, “What the  _fuck_  did you just say?” Tony erupts, twisting in his seat to stare at him.

 

“There’s a fucking  _ship_  outside.  In space,” he clarifies, not looking away from the window, “I think we should—” and then he presses a button on his console.

 

“Daedalus to Icarus, come in.”

 

“What the  _shit_ ,” Natasha says, gaping in the general direction of Peter.

 

“That’s all you,” Peter says abruptly, finally tearing his gaze away from the window to look at Steve.

 

“Icarus to Daedalus, we’re receiving you,” Steve says, turning back to look at Tony, who just shrugs, his expression one of utter bewilderment.

 

“Hey!” a cheery voice explodes through the comms, “Finally!  Man, I’ve been trying to hack into your frequency for  _hours_.  That shit you got built in there is the  _bomb_.  What’s up, guys?”  His voice is deep and accented, but jovial where Natasha’s is dark.

 

Steve blinks.  There are several people behind him who want to laugh but are too shocked to even attempt it.

 

“Daedalus, please—explain,” Steve settles on.  He doesn’t know how to have this conversation.

 

“Okay, so abridged version, yeah, and then I’ll hop on board and give you the real deets?  I’m here to help.  I’m supposed to be looking for someone named Stark?”

 

Steve blinks at Tony, who shakes his head.

 

“He’s listening,” Steve says, “How can we help you?”

 

“ _He_  can lower his Star Wars force fields and let me suction cup onto you.”

 

“Fuck no,” Tony says into the comms, “Who the fuck are you?”

 

“Watch your language,” Steve hisses, “We don’t know who this is.”

 

“Eggs-fucking-actly,” Johnny mutters.

 

“Can it,” Bruce says, throwing a glare at him.

 

Johnny opens his mouth, and Wanda punches his knee, to which he gasps, cupping his knee as he turns his attention on her.

 

“I told you, mate, I’m here to help.  Give you a boost, as it were.”

 

“NASA?” Tony asks warily.

 

“Not NASA.”

 

“What the fuck ever,” Tony says, and before anyone can stop him, he’s flipping a switch and saying, “Jay, ship docking onto Icarus, let it happen.”  Icarus barely moves, but Tony swears he can feel the addition of thrumming energy, something fast and dangerous, and he’s itching to see what this ship looks like, if it’s what he thinks it is.

 

“Adjusting thrusters,” the voice says, “Engines igniting.”

 

“Are they turbo?” Tony asks because he just can’t help himself.

 

“There was some mumbling,” the voice replies.

 

“That’s my ship, isn’t it?” Tony asks.

 

“Catch you on the flipside!”  And then the frequency cuts, and Tony can’t stop the wild grin that forms as he starts typing, delivering code worthy of a fucking medal.

 

They survive.

 

Their foreign friend doesn’t comment, but his presence surrounds them.  Without his help, Bucky admits, they might not have been able to correct completely and would have had to attempt another maneuver as they got closer to Europa.

 

The asteroid belt is far from littered with space debris, but they were teetering dangerously close to a cluster, and so it takes several hours before Bucky gives them the all clear.  By then, they’re so exhausted from waiting that they’ve all but forgotten their eleventh crew member when Peter says, “So, we’re turning out to be a pretty diverse team.”

 

“Why, because the Americans are almost outnumbered now?” Natasha asks.

 

“To be fair, I was born in America,” Sam says.

 

“But you’ve got a smoky ass,” she says before unbuckling and getting up to stretch.

 

“He sounded Australian,” Peter goes on, “Was there anyone from that corner of the world on your radar?” he directs to Steve.

 

“No,” Steve says, “They weren’t even in the top 100 candidates.”

 

He looks to Tony, who shrugs.  “I have no idea, just that he’s piloting a Stark Industries craft.”

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Bruce says suddenly, looking up, “Tony.”

 

“Not usually a good combination,” Tony says, twisting so his spine pops, “But yes?”

 

“Project Insight.”

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Tony says, and then quickly, as Steve turns to him, “Can we explain later?  This is more pressing, and that’s going to take a lot of my brain power to digest.”

 

Steve allows it, and so they all head toward the flight deck as one, where Bucky, Tony, and Steve all suit up, the rest watching on.  “This is probably a bad idea,” Bruce says, folding his arms across his chest, “Our captain, primary engineer, and primary pilot.”  He looks over as Natasha comes up next to him, leaning her shoulder against his.

 

“Does Project Insight put a stop on your evals?” she asks.

 

“It does,” Bruce says, “It wasn’t one of us.”

 

“Was it unintentionally you and Tony?”

 

“It’s complicated,” Bruce says, looking back toward the sealed door, where Tony is making a face at Steve while he helps Bucky into his suit.  Bruce frowns when he watches the corner of Steve’s mouth twitch.  Bucky turns, reaching for his helmet, and Steve flashes Tony a quick smile before going to step into the bottom half of his suit.  Bruce’s blood runs cold as he watches this exchange and realizes, with an icy clarity, why Tony hasn’t been by the med bay lately.

 

They all wait, fidgeting, as the airlock opens, and their three most important crew members disappear one after another, off to retrieve and inspect.  It feels like ages before they return, and, when they do, they’re numbered at four.

 

“This doesn’t feel good,” Betty says even as the airlock closes.

 

“It feels like a trap,” Wanda whispers.

 

“Conspiracist,” Johnny says.

 

“Tony doesn’t like that word,” Peter says, flicking his ear.

 

They watch as the suits come off, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered blonde with a bright smile which falters almost immediately.  “Bruce,” Steve comes over the comms.

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“Please take the crew back a few steps.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Bruce leads, heading a ways down the hall, shaking his head once when Sam starts to speak.  Tony comes out first, talking quickly, “Jay, electrify the walls, and create a barrier between us and the rest of the crew.  Much appreciated, darling.”

 

“Damn it,” Bruce says, his jaw tightening.

 

The man comes next, hands held in the air.  He waves when he spots them, his smile jumping back in place.  “Hey-o!” he calls.

 

“There’ll be no need for that just yet,” Steve says, coming after him, and then they see it, a small gun hovering at Steve’s shoulder, Bucky’s hand wrapped affectionately around it.

 

“My hero,” Natasha says, her mouth sliding into a wicked grin as she watches them.

 

“We have  _guns_  onboard?” Wanda asks in disbelief.

 

“You forget where those two come from,” Nat says, “This isn’t Tony’s idea, nor was it likely Bucky’s, though he’s happy to oblige.”

 

“You really think Steve asked him to pull a gun on someone who just  _saved_  us?” she challenges.

 

“Oh honey,” Natasha says, her voice oozing with condescension, enough that Wanda bristles, “Everyone has a dark side, and while mine might be dripping red, Steve’s is shielded only by his unassuming smile and pretty blue eyes.”

 

“Sometimes, you remind me of Daenerys,” Sam says.

 

“Smoky ass, if I wasn’t married,” Nat says, turning to him as her grin softens.

 

“Wanna binge watch?”

 

“I’m in,” Bruce says.

 

“Let me guess, you like the Watch.”

 

“I’m not  _that_  predictable,” Bruce mutters, “I happen to enjoy the Sand Snakes.”

 

“Right on,” Johnny says, lifting a fist.  Bruce makes a face, but bumps it regardless.

 

That’s when they notice the hall is clear, and they’ve all effectively missed where the man’s been brought.

 

——

 

_1200 hours_

_Steve: Team meeting in the kitchen._

_Bruce: Will he be there?_

_Wanda: He kind of looked like a god._

_Betty: An Australian sex god._

_Natasha: HOLY SHIT MY WOMAN_

_Natasha: MHMMMMM_

_Sam: Wow._

_Sam: This is so awesome.  We live in a wonderful world._

_Steve: Please._

_Johnny: Shit, okay._

Bruce and Betty arrive first, waiting outside the closed door until everyone else has gathered, and then they go in, attention zeroing in on the man sitting at one of the tables, munching on granola.  His blonde hair is tied up in a messy bun, and he beams as they come in.

 

“Am I allowed to say hello now?” he asks, and Natasha’s laugh is short and clipped.

 

Steve sighs, closing his eyes.  As his jaw works, Bucky says, “Yes, you are.”

 

“Hello, friends!” the man says, tossing his granola toward the table and standing up, “Thor’s the name.”

 

“Oh my  _god_ ,” Wanda says, smacking Peter.

 

“Yeah,” he says, “He  _is_  a god.”

 

“Only named after one,” Thor says, shaking hands with each of them, nodding as they introduce themselves.  “I’ve dabbled in a lot of things, but I was selected for this mission through a high intensity training program.  And yes, the lady’s engines are Stark ones.  Fastest shit on the market.  Made it in half speed.”

 

“ _What_ ,” Johnny says, staring in blatant awe.

 

Thor drops back down at the table, picking up his granola as they all scatter around him.  “I was employed by a private company along with several other men and women stupid enough to sign up to undergo training unlike anything any military organization has ever put in place.  NASA thinks we’re crazy, but we think NASA’s boring, so we don’t really talk.  This is the kind of shit we train for, deep space missions with usually two, occasionally only one, person per mission.  The schooling’s  _ridiculous_ , even more so than the physical training.  Anyway, how this works—” he gestures around at all of them, “—is based heavily on Project Insight.”

 

“Now?” Bruce asks, looking over at Tony.

 

“Dude, it’s fucking cyclical,” Tony says, shaking his head, before he straightens and addresses all of them, “Bruce and I were working on high-level tech a couple decades ago.  We were right out of college, had just been recruited by NASA, and we had—shit, these ideas.  They were wild.”

 

“They were dangerous,” Bruce picks up, “We were playing with things that not everyone agreed with.  The engines in Thor’s ship were only one of many projects, but all of them were based around the same idea—getting into deep space and staying there for a length of time.  We pitched it to NASA as a threat deterrent.”

 

“Okay, deep space threat deterrent sounds like you believed in aliens,” Sam interrupts, “Is this happening right now?”

 

“Not aliens,” Tony says, “But they’d found evidence of life before, and they were starting to get nervous.”

 

“So aliens,” Peter says, “Holy shit.”

 

“Not aliens,” Bruce repeats, “Nothing even close to that.  It was all circumstantial and long since dead.  A threat deterrent was not our actual endgame, but it was a way to allow NASA to let us keep working on it.”

 

“The engines were a bust,” Tony says, “We couldn’t figure out how to get them bigger, so they could only be used on small crafts with enough space to house, at max, three people.  As you can imagine, it was rejected.  We kept working on it, along with other high-level tech.  And then, General Ross got wind of it.”

 

“We, uh—” Bruce pauses, glancing at Tony, whose head jerks to the side, and it’s enough of a movement that Bruce skips the part that’s still burning inside of him—Tony’s mouth on his ear, hands trembling where they gripped Bruce’s arms, his voice a ghost against his skin,  _we can’t, I have to go, he’s going to kill you, and I can’t let that happen_ —and instead continues, “We received several terrifying threats, some of which he started to carry out on, and we put an end to it.  Tony moved to California, and I moved back to New York.  We never spoke about Project Insight again.”

 

“So, this is where Weapon X comes in,” Thor says, “They have a totally chill name in the public eye, but they’re a load of shitheads, so that’s what we call them.  They got a hold of Ross, said they liked what the two idiots were doing, and Ross told him he’d shut them down, and that was it.  He wasn’t reachable after that, to  _regular people_ ,” Thor looks a little smug as he says this, “But Weapon X kept track of him, stayed on his ass, watched him start building followers and getting in under NASA’s skin.  Sadly, they’re not as cool as we all wish they were, and they didn’t realize the hack was happening until you’d already left.  NASA didn’t know, so don’t get your panties in a twist,” he adds when he sees some of their expressions go dark, “But we weren’t ready yet.  So, we got to work.”

 

“I’m still a little pissed about this part,” Tony admits.

 

“We stole one of his engines,” Thor says delightedly.

 

“Two, don’t lie,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes at him.

 

“Yeah, but we only  _just_  started using the second engine today, to give you guys a boost, so.  Fair’s fair.”

 

“Long story short,” Tony says, “They built a craft around my engines, which are designed and flawlessly tested to approach warp speed.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Johnny says, “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

 

“I didn’t say entering, I said approaching,” Tony says, “Calm your tits.”

 

“Oi!” Thor says, throwing a sharp jab at Tony, “Rude.  There are women in here.  Have some respect.”

 

“We’re keeping him,” Natasha says, “I like him.”  Thor smiles widely at her, and Natasha holds out a hand as if to prove her point.

 

“How long did it take you to get to us?” Steve asks, though he knows the answer.  He can’t quite believe it, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to.

 

“Six and a half months,” Thor says, “Give or take a month.  I don’t know, I lost track of time.  It might have been seven and a half.”

 

“And you were alone for that long?” Wanda asks, frowning.

 

Thor shrugs one shoulder.  “Sometimes, I use different voices when I’m talking to pretend there are others.  I’m  _kidding_ ,” he adds at her look of horror, “I’m horrible at different accents.  It just stays like this all the time.”

 

“Sexy?” Natasha supplies.

 

“Russian?” he asks.  Natasha smirks.

 

“Okay,” Steve says, “I know I would usually bring something like this to the table, and I considered doing so, but this is a lot, and I know, within reason, that some of you will not believe much of what Thor has told us.  That being said, he is to be welcomed onto this ship.  He has provisions on Daedalus that we’ll retrieve in due time, and it looks as though we have gained an eleventh crew member.”

 

“And he’ll sleep where exactly?” Bruce asks, looking at Tony, who glances up at Bruce, something sad flitting across his face.

 

“We currently have two rooms being used as singles,” Steve says, “And thus, Tony has graciously volunteered to give up his room.”

 

“And he’ll sleep where exactly?” Bucky echoes Bruce, looking at Steve.

 

“He’ll be bunking with me.”

 

“Ho ho,” Johnny laughs, “That’ll be interesting.”

 

“Dismissed,” Steve says, “Any questions, come see me separately.”

 

Bruce turns out of the room, twisting away from Betty when she reaches for him, and Bucky is not far behind him.

 

——

 

_1700 hours_

When Tony enters the flight deck, he’s alone with Bucky.  He frowns when he doesn’t see Sam chattering away, prepared to annoy everyone should the need arise.  He goes over to settle into Sam’s seat, looking over at Bucky, who refuses to meet his gaze, before he says, “Hey.”

 

Bucky grunts, nodding once.

 

“How is our trajectory looking?”

 

“Good,” Bucky says.

 

“Steve said you might be able to provide me with a full report of the last twenty-four hours so I can draw up some—”

 

“Oh,  _Steve_  said that, did he?” Bucky says, still not looking at Tony, “That was nice of him to offer me up.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes, but doesn’t take the bait.  “I want to be able to report back to NASA on our combined findings so they can—”

 

“Really,” Bucky says, and this time, he directs his disbelieving grin at Tony, “You’re so concerned about what NASA thinks that you came in here to ask for numbers?  Bullshit.”

 

“We kind of just had an unapproved spacecraft dock on Icarus,” Tony says, “I know that you’re foreign, but I thought your English was pretty good.”

 

“Oh, fuck  _you_ ,” Bucky says, turning back to his work.

 

“Seriously, Barnes,” Tony continues, “A lot of shit just happened to us.  NASA needs to know.”

 

“Get back to me when you have a plausible explanation for your visit.”

 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Tony says, not backing down, “We’re not fucking pirates tramping through space.  We’re out here to  _work_.”  Bucky turns to look at him again, one eyebrow quirking up.  “I’m not fucking around with you,” Tony says, “Just give me the numbers.”

 

“You think you’re so grand now, don’t you?  Tucked right up against our captain, and now you think you can just go about giving orders.  I defer to Steve, not you,” he spits.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters, getting up and starting to walk away.  He stops, turning back, and says, “This is coming from Steve, you moron, but does it honestly make sense for the captain of the ship to ask for flight pattern numbers to set against engineering stats?  He’s busy making sure this Thor character isn’t a mole sent to kill us.  He—whatever, I’ll get it myself.”

 

“Hack into my files,” Bucky says, his voice low and dangerous, “And you’ll regret it.”

 

“Yeah, get back to me when your threats actually mean something,” Tony says, putting his back to Bucky.

 

His first mistake is thinking Bucky won’t resort to physical attack, and thus the blow between his shoulder blades catches him off guard and makes him stagger, dropping to one knee as he throws out a hand to catch himself.  His second mistake is thinking he won’t do it again.

 

“Okay,” Tony says, getting up and turning.  Bucky’s fist connects with his jaw, and Tony’s head turns, knuckles crunching against bone.

 

Bucky grabs him by his shirt, yanking him forward.  “If you think, for one second—” and Tony smashes his forehead off the bridge of Bucky’s nose.

 

Bucky howls, jerking back as Tony lands a swift jab against his ribs and then quickly steps back, feet spreading as he lifts his hands, fingers tight together and palms open.  “So your problem is that you’re in love with Steve,” Tony says, and Bucky roars to life.

 

He comes at Tony with more speed than Tony expects, and thus he doesn’t block Bucky’s first punch to his side, but by then, he understands how his body moves, and he starts deflecting blows, though never delivering any, either.  Bucky’s easily better trained, but he’s bleeding profusely from the nose, and the angle of it suggests Tony may have broken it, and so they’re evenly matched.

 

Bucky gets him again on the jaw, on the same side, and Tony swears colorfully at him as he feels pain flash brightly through his head, a wicked bruise blooming in its place.  Tony returns the favor in the form of a jab against his sternum, and really, that’s what turns it.  Bucky caves inward, gasping, Tony throws a wild cut into his ribs, and then the door slides slowly open.

 

“Fucking slow as shit,” Sam starts yelling, edging through, “Guys, what the fuck!”

 

He runs over, grabs at Tony even as Tony’s lunging forward, and hauls him away, spinning until he can deposit Tony at a safe distance.  “Not a chance,” he says, throwing a forearm up and smacking away Tony’s incoming fist, “Get the fuck out.”

 

“He—”

 

“Bruce,” Sam says over the comms, “I’m sending a tantrum your way.”

 

“Lucky me,” Bruce says, “I’m nearby, I’ll come collect.”

 

“I’m not a fucking child,” Tony growls.

 

“Then stop acting like one,” Sam says, dropping his voice, “I know he’s being a shithead, but chill out, okay?”

 

Tony narrows his eyes, but settles, and Sam lets go of him, pointing to the door before he turns toward Bucky.  He waits until he hears the door slide open and closed again before he comes over to Bucky, tilting his head up to look at the damage.  Sam whistles.  “Shit, man.  That’s gonna hurt.”

 

“He fucking—”

 

“Shut up,” Sam says, slapping the side of his face lightly, “Come on.”

 

Sam leads him over to his desk, giving him a shove so that he’ll sit, and then he rummages around in his drawers until he finds a med kit, setting it next to Bucky before he gets to work.  He cleans up his nose first, mopping away the blood before he presses gauze against his nose and asks, “You want me to break it back?”

 

“No,” Bucky groans, lowering one hand to curl around the edge of the desk.

 

Sam grins, says, “Your face is too pretty to go unprotected, man.”  He settles his thumb and edge of his index finger on either side of Bucky’s nose, and keeps talking, “You need to remember, arms up, don’t let them get close.  I know how you get, you probably wanted to show him your fury or something stupid, but—” he pauses and keeps on smiling when Bucky’s nose cracks back in place, and he lets out a low noise, knuckles going white, “—what the hell am I going to do when we’re floating on by with nothing to do, and I can’t even stare at your handsome little mug?  Shit, that’s a lot of blood,” he says, taking away the gauze and replacing it with a new one.  “Don’t tip your head back, I’m not cleaning up your vomit.”

 

When the bleeding has stopped, and Sam has finished, Bucky says, “I think they’re sleeping together.”

 

“Well, no shit,” Sam says, going to toss his used supplies, “Peter and Wanda have a bet going to see how long it’ll take.”

 

“You know?” Bucky says, looking at him in horror.

 

“Not for sure,” Sam says, “But they haven’t really been discreet about it.  I mean, come on, Tony’s voluntarily moving into Steve’s room?  They’re banging.”

 

“I just—” Bucky breaks off, shaking his head.

 

Sam frowns as he watches him, looking down at his hands in his lap, and it occurs to him that maybe Bucky’s more in love with Steve than he’s ever really let on.  “Hey,” Sam says, coming over, “Why does it bother you so much?”

 

Bucky continues to look down at his hands, biting at his lower lip, and Sam waits him out, lets him have a moment before Bucky finally says, “We were different after the war, both of us.  We thought that we could still carry on, still be together.  We had managed it before and during, but—I was—Steve was—fuck.”

 

“It’s okay,” Sam says, reaching a hand forward to curl around his shoulder, squeezing, “You don’t have to tell me.”

 

“He was okay,” Bucky says finally, looking up, and there’s more pain there than he can conceal.  Sam’s frown deepens, and he wants nothing more than to draw him into a hug, but he’s not sure if Bucky’s in the right frame of mind for that.  “He was okay,” he says again, shrugging the shoulder Sam isn’t touching, so Sam takes his hand back, “I mean, not as okay as he was before, but he was managing.  He could handle his nightmares, and he was going to therapy, and he could—fuck, he could breathe, and I couldn’t.  I still can’t.  I see it— _always_.”

 

“Bucky,” Sam says softly, stepping forward, but Bucky’s shoulders go rigid, and he reads him, backing down.

 

“I started trying different things,” Bucky says, looking away and lifting a hand to wipe quickly at his eyes, “Sleeping pills didn’t work, and drinking wasn’t an option.  I did that, for a while, and it started to drive him away, so I stopped.  I tried fucking therapy, too, but it just made it worse, and I know all that bullshit, it’s always darker before the dawn, or whatever, but I just couldn’t, man.  I couldn’t do it, and then—he couldn’t do me anymore.”

 

Sam folds his arms across his chest.  He’d always known that there was a gap in the breakup story, but he had never imagined it ran so deep.

 

“It doesn’t matter, though,” Bucky says, suddenly pushing off of the desk and walking away, “This isn’t the first time he’s moved on.”

 

“Is this the first time it’s another man?” Sam asks.

 

“Can we talk about literally anything else?” Bucky erupts, turning back to Sam, and his hands are shaking so bad that Sam nods.

 

“Scores came in for last night’s game,” Sam says, “Fucking smoked your ass.”

 

Bucky smiles weakly and says, “Only because your guys were too chicken shit to lift the false accusations.”

 

“Oh,  _false_?” Sam exclaims, voice cracking up a notch, and Bucky laughs.

 

——

 

“This doesn’t resemble a typical tantrum,” Bruce says, watching as Tony does absolutely nothing but tap out a rhythm on his thigh.

 

“I wasn’t throwing a tantrum,” Tony says evenly.

 

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Bruce says as he comes into the med bay and over to Tony, one hand cradling the side of his jaw as he tips his head, frowning at the discolored skin, “Why were you fighting?”

 

“Bucky—”

 

“If you say Bucky started it,  _I’ll_  punch you.”

 

Tony makes a face at him, winces when his jaw moves, and says, “Bucky was angry with me.”

 

“For?” Bruce asks, crossing his arms and watching Tony carefully.

 

He shrugs.  “Who knows,” Tony lies, “I was asking for flight numbers, and he was feeling angsty.”

 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Bruce says, finally turning away from him to go find something for Tony’s face.

 

“Only to you,” Tony mumbles, staring at Bruce’s retreating back.  Silence settles uncomfortably between them until Tony sighs and asks, “Are we still fighting?”

 

“We never were,” Bruce says evenly.

 

“Yeah, but you’re doing that emotionless voice that means you’re trying to be civil with me, which means you’re mad at me because you  _hate_  being civil with people because there’s not enough of the love going around.”

 

“Stop making me sound like a hippie,” Bruce says, a smile creeping in at the edge of his voice.

 

“Well, stop being a fucking hippie,” Tony mutters.  When Bruce returns to him, holding up an ice pack, Tony sticks his tongue out and takes it, pressing it against his jaw.  “Why are you mad at me?” he asks.

 

“I’m all done,” Bruce says, offering him a crooked smile, “I was being petty.”

 

“Stop doing those feeling things,” Tony says, knocking a fist against his shoulder, “They’re overrated.”

 

“Better watch out, then,” Bruce says, “Looks like you’re falling into a trap.”

 

“It’s a trap!” Tony shouts, and it breaks the last of the tension between them.  “Come snuggle and watch a movie with me,” Tony says, nudging at Bruce’s knee with his toes until Bruce smacks his ankle.

 

“Not in your room,” Bruce says, and Tony considers the battle won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I messed up? This chapter and the last chapter were both February, and I think that messes up my twelve chapter thing, meaning I think there's actually going to be thirteen in this one to account for all of the months. I don't know, I'll have to look at it later. I'm posting this five minutes before I'm due to leave for work because I keep almost getting caught posting there. Oh man, I just went to crosspost on Tumblr, and now I'm really confused because I labeled it February, part two. Yeah, I think there's definitely going to be thirteen chapters in this instead of twelve. My bad. You get more. Speaking of, though, I got nervous that I hadn't been writing this in a while--I was focusing on the horror au, not uninterested--and so I panicked and wrote a quick 9000 words this week. WHOOPS. Anyway, I hope you all have a lovely weekend coming up, and yes, I will definitely be posting a new chapter of this on Monday while simultaneously freaking the fuck out about Juno. My community yoga class on Saturday is also dedicated to Jupiter in celebration.
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the crew of Icarus grows closer to their newest crew member, another wrench is thrown into the works.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: elizabethross]_

_[password: nerdsunite]_

_Message Subject: (Unknown)_

Betty isn’t sure what she expects when her files finish downloading.  She doesn’t often receive anything other than the occasional group video from some of her friends, and once, a small video from Glenn, but she can’t make heads or tails about the encrypted sender, and that alone makes her nervous.

 

She expects Glenn, maybe.  She knew that Peggy reached out to him, asked him to keep an ear out, but he’s been off active duty for so long, Betty never thought it would come to fruition.

 

What she doesn’t expect is her father.

 

And yet, there he is, his mustache bristling and a vein standing out in his neck as he stares off-screen.  She waits until he realizes that he’s being recorded, and then holds her breath when he starts speaking.

 

“I don’t have much time,” he says quickly, “We’re in a covert mission right now, but I need you to know that whatever slander NASA is painting, it isn’t true.”

 

Bruce looks up and over at his voice, staring openly at Betty.  She doesn’t look away from the screen, shocked into immobility.

 

“My team had nothing to do with the hack delivered to your flight path.  I would never wish harm upon you, Betty.  I would never—”

 

“Thunderbolt, let’s go!” a voice shouts, and her father looks off-screen again.

 

“Please relay my concerns for the safety of your mission to your captain,” Ross says, “Don’t send a reply.  We’ll be going underground until all of this blows over.”

 

The video goes dark, and Betty lets out a hard breath.

 

“We never told NASA our suspicions,” Bruce says.

 

“Bruce,” Betty says, finally looking up at him, “I told him I had denied the position on Icarus.  I didn’t want him to know I was going.”

 

“He didn’t think you were here?”

 

“This is my fault,” Betty says, shaking her head, “If I had just had the decency to talk to him, we wouldn’t be in this situation.  I didn’t want him to be a part of this, but if he had known—oh god.”

 

“Betty, no,” Bruce says, quickly crossing the room to her and drawing her against him, “Don’t you dare.”

 

“This is  _my fault_ ,” Betty whispers, turning into Bruce, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Bruce says, holding her tightly, “He’s a madman.  He would have done something like this eventually.  This is not because of you.”

 

“ _Bruce_.”

 

Bruce sighs and reaches forward to close her laptop, banishing her father’s face before he pulls Betty closer and kisses her hair.

 

——

 

_March 2, 2073_

_1900 hours_

“Did you learn because of Sue?” Natasha asks, watching Johnny’s fingers wind through Wanda’s hair, deftly creating a fish tail.

 

“Yeah,” Johnny admits, smiling, “She still can’t do it herself, so she made Reed learn before I left.  It used to drive her mad, always wearing a ponytail.”

 

“It feels so nice, too,” Wanda says happily, “I tried to get Peter to do it one time, and he was all.”  She makes an aborted motion with her fingers, twisting them together, and Johnny laughs.  “Even my brother was bad at it.  I mean, he never learned how to braid, but I could convince him to just play with it, and he would just—” and she slaps at her thigh, dragging her hand down it.  Johnny’s laugh pitches higher, and he pauses, fingers tangled in her hair as Natasha smiles, watching them.

 

She starts to speak, but then there’s a knock on the door, and she calls for them to come in.  She had been trying to avoid the apparently massive population on Icarus, but Wanda had broken in with Johnny and popcorn—and green beans, but she’s ignoring that—and now here they are.

 

The door opens to reveal Thor, of all people, standing there in a standard issue NASA jumpsuit.  His clothes are limited until they return to Daedalus for his supplies, but still, it makes Nat smirk to see such a large man stifled like that.

 

“You look ridiculous,” is the first thing she says.

 

“I considered going in the nude, but thought it might be too scarring,” he quips right back, and Natasha smirks at him.

 

“Here,” she says, grabbing Johnny’s shoulder and using him as leverage to clamber out of her bunk.  She goes over to her dresser to rifle through her things before settling on one of Clint’s shirts and tossing it to him.  “I expect that back unharmed,” she says, shooting him a nasty glare before she goes back to join the others.

 

Thor nods, and then starts stripping.

 

“Okay,” Wanda and Johnny both say, watching as he shrugs out of the shoulders of the jumpsuit, ties the arms at his waist, and pulls on the shirt.

 

“You’re welcome,” Thor says, grinning widely before he asks, “So, what’s the story, morning glories?”

 

“Oh, I love him,” Wanda says happily, leaning back into Johnny who swats at her and pushes her upright.

 

“Think you could do mine?” Natasha asks, watching Johnny’s fingers move again.

 

“I could,” Thor offers, already moving to sit next to Johnny.  “I have several sisters,” he says by way of explanation.

 

“No one’s judging,” Johnny says, bumping shoulders with him, “Wanda’s a whore for having her hair done, so—ow!” he exclaims when Wanda punches his shin and Thor flicks his ear.

 

“Rude,” they both say.

 

Wanda lifts a hand, squeezing Thor’s when he places it in hers.  “We haven’t been properly introduced,” she says, “Name’s Wanda; botanist and geologist.”

 

“I  _love_  rocks,” Thor says, lifting his flicking fingers again when Johnny looks at him strangely, “Particularly outer space ones, though.”

 

“Meteors?” Wanda hazards a guess.

 

“Precisely.  Ah, the Russian,” he adds when Natasha sits in front of him, “Your accent leads me to believe that you’re actually from Russia, though your name has been Americanized.”

 

“My name is Natalia,” Nat says, “But only when I’m feeling dangerous.”

 

“I was under the impression you always were.”

 

Nat rolls her eyes when Wanda smiles, wiggling happily.  “Marine biologist,” she says.

 

“Water equals life?” Thor asks.

 

“I’m not getting into this argument with you right now.  See me after class.”

 

“Electrical engineer,” Johnny says as Thor starts to separate Nat’s short red curls.

 

“Oh, just wait until you see Stark’s engines,” Thor says fondly, “It’s like looking at the sun.  I love them.”

 

“Is that why you stole them?”

 

Thor sections off half of Nat’s hair, pulling a hair tie from seemingly nowhere, and tying it off.  Wanda laughs, reaching off to bat at it until Natasha levels her with a glare that potentially burns a hole in her hand.  Wanda grumbles under her breath.

 

“I stole them for science,” Thor says, “And I’m not all to blame.”

 

His expression tightens minutely, and where Nat would have seen it, Johnny doesn’t, instead continuing his line of questioning, “So, what exactly is Weapon X’s purpose?”

 

“They just hate NASA’s training program and wanted to make better astronauts, so they recruited all the underdogs.”

 

“There’s no way NASA considered you unsatisfactory,” Johnny says, jerking his chin toward Thor’s body.

 

“Nah, I just thought they were lame, so I bummed out to go surfing too many times, and they kicked me out.  Weapon X let me do both, but said if I was ever late to class to go to the beach, they’d stick me in a tank with sharks and have me surf my way out of that shit, so we got along pretty well.”

 

Natasha laughs softly as Thor starts braiding her hair.  “Dude,” Johnny says, some minutes later, “I have never been able to figure out how to make my Dutch braid look that good.  Teach me your ways.”

 

“You just need a little—” he breaks off, moving one of his hands vaguely.

 

“Faith?” Wanda supplies.

 

“Trust,” Nat says.

 

“Ha,” Johnny says, grinning, “Pixie dust.”

 

“I  _love_  Peter Pan,” Thor says earnestly, and then they’re all laughing.

 

——

 

_March 12, 2073_

_0700 hours_

“Hey jerkbutt,” Tony says as he holds out a mug of tea, “Are you done sulking?”

 

“I was not,” Steve says, taking the mug, “I was just not encouraging you.”

 

“I was defending myself, and you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks,” Tony says, “Which is kind of hard considering we sleep in the same room now, and yet, here we are.”

 

“Is there really a point in not telling them?” Steve asks, lifting his mug to sip at it, “I mean—I feel like half of them know anyway.”

 

“That decision was up to you,” Tony says, “I would gladly be free to tap that whenever I wanted to.”

 

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you,” Steve sighs.

 

Tony groans, shifting until he’s comfortable.  “I don’t know, Steve,” he says, “I understand your reasoning.  We’re together for the next five or so years.  What if something goes wrong?  What if you end up hating me?  What if I end up killing you?  Listen,” he says at Steve’s expression, “It could happen.”  Tony mimes boxing, and Steve laughs, shaking his head.  “I don’t think half of them know.”

 

“Wanda and Peter?”

 

“A harmless bet,” Tony assures him, “They’re just trying to stir the pot and keep busy.”

 

“Bucky?”

 

“Is in love with you,” Tony says, shrugging when Steve frowns, “Plain and simple, so that’s your fault, not mine.  Stop being so damn attractive.”

 

“I guess that’s only three,” Steve says quietly.

 

“Four,” Tony admits, “Sam knows.  I don’t know how, but he keeps making these remarks, and I’ve been ignoring him, and I don’t think he’ll actually say anything, but he definitely thinks something is going on.”

 

Steve sighs, but doesn’t speak, instead drinking his tea slowly.  Finally, he surfaces, and says, “Does it frustrate you?”

 

“No,” Tony says honestly, “I kind of appreciate it.  It lets me just breathe, just figure this shit out without having to defend myself to anyone.”

 

“To Bruce,” Steve says, “Who is also in love with you.”

 

“I don’t—want to talk about that,” Tony says, scrunching up his nose in frustration.

 

“So you are aware?”

 

“I think we should all just fuck like mad rabbits.  The whole team.”

 

“That would go against policy,” Steve mumbles into his mug.

 

Tony barks out a laugh, quick and loud, and reaches forward for his tablet.  “Good thing you’re cute,” he says, “Because you’re shit at being funny.”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Steve says, and Tony cheers.

 

——

 

_1400 hours_

The last place Steve thinks to check is the gym, and when he steps inside, it’s to find Thor running on the treadmill, a pair of headphones tucked snug into his ears, and the speed set up high, where Steve likes to run, and that alone makes him smile.

 

He knocks his fist against one of the arm bars that Thor isn’t using, arms instead hugged in against his ribs, hands open in loose fists.  When he steps in front of the treadmill, Thor pulls an earphone out and tosses it over his shoulder.  “Cap,” Thor says, nodding, “How goes it?”

 

“We were going to take a trip out to Daedalus to retrieve your supplies.  I was wondering if you wanted to come.”

 

“And when is this trip happening?” Thor asks, still running.

 

“Tomorrow morning, probably.  I have to settle a few things with our pilots first.”

 

“One of them was sporting a superb bruise the other day, you see that?” he asks, grinning, “What I wouldn’t give to have seen that fight.”

 

“I’m sure it was an interesting one,” Steve sighs.

 

When he doesn’t say anything more, Thor says, “Yeah, I’ll hitch a ride with you guys, see what’s going on.  First, you have to do me a favor, though.”

 

“Is that so?” Steve asks, watching him slow the speed until he can comfortably get off.

 

“Spot?” Thor asks, heading over to one of the benches bolted into the floor.  He unlocks a weighted bar, adds some weights on either side, and then carefully lifts it onto the stand, lying on his back.  Steve comes behind him, spreading his feet as he watches him lift.

 

“So, here’s the rub,” Thor says, “Favor is you can’t be cross with me.”

 

“I’ve learned to not agree to that beforehand,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows when Thor grins up at him.

 

“You seem to have curated quite the team, I’ll give you that,” Thor says, bringing the bar down to his chest, and then exhaling it up again, “Despite what it looks like on the surface level, though, they would clearly do anything for you.  It’s nice to see that kind of loyalty is still possible at the governmental level.”

 

“What do you have against NASA?” Steve asks, “And don’t give me the surf story, I’ve already heard that circulating around the ship.”

 

“Promise you won’t be cross with me?” Thor asks.

 

“I’m not that curious,” Steve says, and Thor laughs.

 

“You’re a good man, Rogers.  I have faith that you’ll understand.”

 

“You’re worrying me, admittedly,” Steve says, relaxing a little.

 

And then Thor throws the bar.  It’s just a small toss, enough that it jumps up out of his hands, but it still comes careening back toward him, and Steve instinctively jumps forward, catching it.

 

“I didn’t come alone,” Thor says, hands held just away from the bar, “There’s someone else on Daedalus.”  Steve’s jaw works as he tries to decide if dropping the bar on him would be worth it or not.  “I didn’t tell you because I was nervous about your reaction to us in the first place.  We didn’t know anything coming in.”

 

Steve decides against it and straightens, dropping the bar onto the stand.  “Keep going,” he says, hands hitching up to settle on his hips.

 

Thor lifts upright and turns, straddling the bench as he continues, “Weapon X is a private company, like I told you.  What I didn’t tell you was that we launched without NASA’s approval, but I know you’ve already figured that out.  We didn’t know who you were, where your loyalties laid, what could happen.  We had to be careful, so we separated.”

 

“Why did NASA let you get this far?”

 

“Well, obviously they weren’t going to shoot us out of space, that would be a bit too scifi, if you catch my drift.  Weapon X gave ‘em a ring, explained what we were planning, and they said, well shit, that’s a good idea, here’s our blessing.”

 

“You’re not telling me something,” Steve says, and Thor’s grin widens.

 

“This is why I knew it was okay to tell you,” Thor says, “You’ve got some sneaky ass bastards on Icarus, and yet all of them are loyal to  _you_ , not NASA.  Heck, I’m pretty sure some of them will be handing in their resignations after the shit they’ve been put through, but I’m also pretty sure they’ll keep in fairly good contact with you.  Also, I’m an A+ storyteller, and you see through my carefully constructed lies every time.”

 

Steve lifts one eyebrow.  “If you stole one of Tony’s engines, then you know who you stole from.  That’s what I’m dealing with on a daily basis.”

 

“Exactly,” Thor says, “Which is why you and my mate will get along.”

 

“I didn’t say Tony and I got along.”

 

“Not  _yet_ ,” Thor says, holding out his hands, “So here’s the bomb.  I done banged your director.”

 

This sets Steve back a step, and it takes him a moment to process before he says, “I’m sorry,  _what_?”

 

“Remember that vacation she took to Australia?”  Steve just stares at him, unblinking.  “Yeah,” Thor says, “That was right before Weapon X scooped me up.”

 

“You’re pulling my leg,” Steve says.

 

“That’s one way of putting it, yes,” Thor says, “But I’m not lying to you, am I?”

 

“No,” Steve says, “Somehow, you’re not.”  Steve takes a moment to just breathe, to digest everything, and then he heads off, calling over his shoulder, “Coming?”

 

Thor cheers and follows.

 

——

 

_March 13, 2073_

_0900 hours_

After they’ve eaten breakfast, Tony has annoyed Steve until he agreed to finish the reports later, and suited up, they’re off to Daedalus to retrieve supplies and Thor’s nameless companion.  Steve quietly pulls Bucky aside a half hour before they’re due in the flight deck, but before he can get the words out, Bucky asks, “Can Sam go in my stead?”

 

“Is everything okay?” Steve asks, frowning.

 

“No,” Bucky says, “But I’m working on it.”

 

“If you need anything,” Steve says, squeezing his shoulder, “I’m here.”

 

Bucky just nods, and Steve doesn’t see the way his face falls when he heads back toward the group.

 

And so, Steve leads the way with Thor, Tony, Sam, and Wanda following behind, all of them tethered together.  They encounter no difficulties on the way to Daedalus, and then Thor is stopping them just outside the airlock.  “She’s tiny,” he says, “Not all of us can fit in there at once.”

 

“I know,” Tony says, surprising no one, “I’m just here to take a look at the engines, see how they’re holding up.  I can get there without being inside.  Sam and Wanda are going to stay outside to ferry things back up to Icarus.  We can keep Daedalus magnetized to the outside, but we’re concerned about that regardless, so they’re also going to give her some extra support.  It’s just you and Steve going in.”

 

“Right on,” Thor says, and then he opens the airlock.

 

Steve follows him in, listening to Daedalus depressurize the airlock before it’s safe, and then they’re carefully getting out of their suits.  When they had come out to collect Thor, he’d just been leaving the airlock, and so this is his first time inside.

 

It’s  _small_ , that much is quickly apparent, and he wonders just how much they had to sacrifice to make this work.  The artificial gravity is also off, and so they float out of the airlock.

 

“She’s no Icarus, but she’s my favorite girl yet,” Thor says, patting one of the walls fondly.  Steve starts to speak, but then Thor lets out a loud whistle, listening while it echoes after until there’s a returning noise, a crash, and then a body comes slowly into view.  It transforms into a man with his legs crossed at the ankles and hands tucked behind his head.

 

“Howdy,” he says, “Figured I’d give myself an advantage.”

 

“Bull,” Thor says, “You’ve been floating your ass around for the past two weeks.”

 

“Red handed,” the man says before he swings his legs up and head back, somersaulting through the air.  He grabs onto one of the handles on the wall to right himself, and then asks, “So, we good?”

 

“We’re good,” Thor says, “This is Steve.”

 

“Captain Rogers,” Steve introduces, “And you are?”

 

“You can call me Quill,” he says, “Heard you’ve got another Peter onboard, so figured I’d make things easy.  Plus, Peter’s what my mom called me, and she’s dead, so that’s sad.  You got enough room to store a hostage?”

 

“You’re not—honestly,” Steve says, closing his eyes briefly.

 

“It’s like we sprout sarcastic from the ground,” Thor says, punching Steve’s shoulder before he turns to Quill, “Come on, shithead, get packed, and let’s go.  We’re jumping ship.”

 

“Yee-haw!” Quill shrieks before he flings himself back around the corner and down the hall.  “Daedalus, my love,” Quill’s voice fades as he gets farther away, “I am going to miss your fine ass, but we are moving onto bigger booties.”

 

“This isn’t happening,” Steve says, and Thor just laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to keep an eye on NASA TV today! There's a pre-orbit insertion briefing at 9AM PST/12PM EST, orbit insertion and NASA TV commentary at 7:30PM PST/10:30PM EST, and post-orbit insertion briefing at 10PM PST/1AM EST. I'll be watching most of them, and I'm freaking out excited! I can't believe we have to wait until August/September for all the data, but tonight is going to be incredible, so make sure you watch if you can! In the meantime, don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of Icarus starts to slowly welcome with the crew of Daedalus, which gives way to softer moments.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: anthonystark]_

_[password: warmachineroxxx]_

_Message Subject: How did you manage to get the most exciting space trip ever?_

Tony laughs at the subject line as the video loads, and then, it’s about thirty seconds before he’s a complete mess.

 

“I fucking miss you,” is what Rhodey starts with, and Tony smiles, nodding in response.  “Like—shit, Tony.  I just—” he breaks off, and there’s a moment where he’s just staring at the screen, and then he’s tossing the tablet away from him.  A few moments later, he’s climbing into bed, yanking the duvet up over his head.  Rhodey’s plunged into darkness, the light of the screen the only thing illuminating his face.

 

Tony frowns, rubbing at the edge of his tablet, waiting.

 

“I fucking hate this,” Rhodey says, his voice breaking a little, and Tony exhales _hard_.  “I hate this in between, sending shit to you and just _waiting_ to hear back.  NASA won’t talk to any of us anymore.  They’re calling the Europa Expedition a closed mission, to no longer be discussed in the media or to fucking anyone until it’s calmed down.  Of course, _of course_ this would happen to you.  Jesus, as if life hasn’t thrown enough fucking—god _damn_ it, Tony.”

 

Rhodey’s face disappears, burying into the mattress, and Tony folds in on himself, the tablet sliding off his lap onto the bed as he hides, nose tucked between his thighs.

 

“Please be okay,” Rhodey whispers, “I can’t do this without you, man.  You’re my brother.  I don’t know what I would do without you.  All of this shit doesn’t matter without you, Tony, so stop.  Stop being on an exciting space mission from hell and go do something amazing on Europa, and then _come home_ and tell me about everything.”

 

Tony forces himself to look over at the screen, finds Rhodey doing the same thing, and he doesn’t wipe away the tears streaking down his face, instead waits for Rhodey to continue.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “It’s been a really hard month, and now that you’re in the second year, you’re so far that they aren’t doing dumps as often, and I just—I miss you, Tony.  I should have gone with you.”

 

“Fuck,” Tony hisses, fist clenching in his pants, “Don’t do that.”

 

“I know,” Rhodey says, “That was shit of me.  Listen,” he pauses, reaching up to throw the duvet away and scrub at his face, “You tell anyone I cried on you, I’ll break your face.”

 

It does the trick, and Tony laughs softly, nodding again.  “Yeah, okay,” he says.

 

“I promise there’s going to be another few videos, not just me blubbering.  I hope you’re in good health, mind and body, and I can’t wait to see your ugly face, you jerk.”

 

Tony just smiles as the video ends, reaching out to tap over to the next one.

 

——

 

_April 23, 2073_

_0400 hours_

“Peter.”

 

He had been dreaming of soft hands, trying to rouse him with a careful touch, and then a thumb swipes up over one of his eyebrows, lips brushing the shell of his ear before the voice comes again, “Peter.”

 

“I know it’s too early for you to be waking me up for sex,” Peter mumbles, nowhere near the edge of wakefulness.  Or, at least, he can pretend.

 

“Not sex,” Johnny whispers, though he kisses his jaw, “Something better.  Wake up.  Please?”

 

“What time is it?”  Peter shifts, turning into him, humming happily when Johnny winds his arms tightly around him, breath fanning hotly over his shoulder.

 

“Don’t ask that,” Johnny murmurs, which means it’s earlier than Peter thought it was, “You’re going to be happy, I promise.”

 

“I’m _asleep_ ,” Peter says, yawning widely, “I am happy.”

 

Johnny loosens his hold, nudging at him gently.  “Peter, _please_.”

 

“Jesus, fine,” Peter says, finally relenting and lifting his arms over his head, stretching his toes toward the bottom of the bed as he groans.  Johnny sneaks down, planting a smacking kiss against his stomach, which Peter swats at him for.  “Don’t be annoying,” he says softly, “You’re already disturbing my favorite time of the day.”

 

“My favorite time of day is—”

 

“If you say you, I’m sleeping in my own bunk.”

 

“That’s dumb,” Johnny says, and then he’s clambering over Peter, who follows him slowly, standing pitifully by the bed until Johnny throws him a shirt and pants.  They pad barefoot through the halls, Johnny’s fingers wound tightly through Peter’s as he leads the way, and Peter just tucks up against him, dozing as he lets Johnny whisper about how exciting this adventure is.

 

When they enter the observatory, Peter perks up and says, “What month is it again?”

 

“Exactly,” Johnny says, and then Peter doesn’t need any encouragement.  He’s awake, tugging at Johnny until they stop at the domed window.  Johnny unveils a pair of binoculars with the NASA logo stamped across them and hands them over, laughing as Peter snatches them from him.

 

“Wow,” Peter exhales a moment later, “It’s beautiful.”

 

“Can you see all four of them?” Johnny asks.

 

Peter lifts a hand, pointing in vague directions, and Johnny squints, trying to see more than just stars brighter than normal.  “Io,” he says, “God, it looks—incredible.  I can’t even imagine what it will look like from—yeah, there she is.  Europa,” he says as his hands moves.  He spends some time looking at their destination, and then he points again, “Ganymede is a freaking giant, holy magic, I love it.  It looks so much like our moon.  And then—hang on—yeah, there’s Callisto.  Here.”  He hands over the binoculars, and Johnny steps closer, finding what Peter saw.  “We’re really doing this,” he says as he watches Johnny, “We’re already farther than anyone in humankind, and now—we’re going there.  We’re doing this.”

 

Johnny lowers the binoculars and steps away from the window and against Peter, pulling him close as he kisses him, soft and warm and everything Peter feels exploding inside of him.  “Peter,” Johnny whispers against his mouth, and Peter beams, kissing him.

 

“I’m so happy I’m here with you,” Peter says, leaning back to look at him, “Thank you.”

 

“I love you,” Johnny says.

 

Peter’s breath catches in his throat, and it’s a long, heavy moment where the feeling of seeing the Galilean moons is overwhelmed by this surge of relief.  “I love you, too,” he says finally, and then Johnny’s letting out a broken laugh and stepping in to burrow against him.

 

“Shit,” he says, and Peter just wraps his arms around him, binoculars clattering to the ground as he closes his eyes and holds onto him.

 

——

 

_0500 hours_

Sam looks out into the darkness of their room, trying to focus on what had woken him up, but the silence is thick around him, and he sinks back into his pillow, knowing he has at least another hour, maybe a little more, before he has to get up, but then it comes again—this sharp, angry sound.

 

“Shit,” Sam says, throwing back his blankets and nearly falling out of his bed.  It’s been a while, a few weeks at least, and even then, Bucky’s last few nightmares have been minor, but this he recognizes as something more.

 

He squats next to Bucky’s bed, assessing.  His face is screwed up in something familiar—fear.  He’s drenched in a cold sweat, and his hands are fisted in his blankets, this awful, small noise tripping out of him before it breaks into the one from before, a shattering shout.

 

“Okay,” Sam says, getting up and carefully maneuvering over him, being careful not to touch him.  He’d once been thoughtless and knocked a knee against Bucky’s on his way into his bed, and they’d both ended up on the floor, Bucky’s hand around his throat.

 

Now, Sam settles easily on the wall side of the bed, inhales to prepare himself, and then winds an arm around Bucky’s middle, hand coming up to settle against his chest.  Bucky starts to move, jerking away from Sam, who exhales strength and slides his other arm beneath Bucky’s side, wrapping it up and hooking around his shoulder.

 

“Bucky,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles against the meat of his shoulder, “Are you with me?”

 

Bucky lets out a whine that sounds like a trapped animal, and Sam sighs, shifting closer until he can get a leg between his, wrapping both of his legs around one of Bucky’s, allowing him some control.

 

“Come on, man,” he says, pressing closer to him, “Come back to me.”

 

He expects Bucky to fight, expects him to view Sam as a threat and to start attacking, but instead, Bucky shakes awake, gasping into the early morning, a terrified noise trying to escape him until Sam yanks him across the bed, traps him in the circle of his body, and Bucky just exhales, giving up.

 

“You’re okay,” Sam says as soon as he realizes he’s awake, “I’m right here with you.”

 

“Sam?” he whispers.

 

“I got you,” Sam promises, pressing his forehead between Bucky’s shoulders, “You’re safe.”

 

“Are we?” Bucky challenges, and Sam doesn’t have a response though he knows he should, he knows Bucky needs one, but he’s so uncertain that he just presses closer and brings Bucky back.

 

——

 

_0600 hours_

Steve wakes to the sun.

 

He smiles when he sees that Tony is still asleep, face turned toward Steve and hand resting lightly against his chest, fingers spread over his sternum.  Steve lays his hand over Tony’s, lifting it to kiss his knuckles.  He doesn’t know how they got to this point, how he reached this moment in his life, where he would be lying next to someone like Tony and feel nothing but warmth.

 

It feels like Bucky before the war, he realizes, but it’s more than that, too, because Tony is all-encompassing.  It’s hard to just love pieces of him, like Steve had always felt like he was doing with Bucky, loving the shared moments and just enjoying all the rest.  With Tony, Steve feels like every second is a step toward something greater, something bright and unknown.

 

He thinks this is the kind of person you don’t let go of, the kind of moment that lasts forever, and though it scares him, Steve can’t help smiling at the idea of his next five years in space spent with Tony, and then, back on Earth, free to come and go until their lives are so interwoven, there is no before.

 

Steve kisses his palm and then shifts his hand until it’s curled in against him before he leans up and over, pressing his mouth against the back of Tony’s neck, where the hair is starting to curl a little.  He leaves a warm trail down his back, pulling the blankets off as he does, pausing to bite lightly at his ribs, smiling when Tony grumbles sleepily at him.

 

He continues down his back, shifting again so he can nudge Tony into the middle of the bed before he drops a knee on either side of his hips, sinking down onto the backs of his thighs as he straightens and pulls off his shirt.

 

“Good morning,” Tony murmurs tiredly, looking back at Steve, “Hi.”

 

“Hey,” Steve says, smiling as he leans back down, body flush against Tony’s, and kisses his jaw, “You awake?”

 

“If you plan on doing something productive, I can be,” he says, and Steve rolls his eyes, though he’s still grinning when he pushes away from Tony, rolling his shoulders out before he starts massaging his fingers into Tony’s back.  “ _Steve_ ,” Tony groans, “You are my _favorite_ person ever.”

 

“You’re alright,” Steve says, and Tony tries to flip him off, but Steve digs his thumb into a knotted muscle, and Tony just melts, making a mildly obscene noise into the pillow.  “Stop that,” Steve laughs.

 

“Stop being so— _oh_.”

 

Steve keeps working his way over Tony’s back, waking him up slowly until Tony’s loose and smirking, and then Steve is on his back, and Tony’s rising above him, _taking_.

 

After, they move around one another, Tony leaving scorching marks of want across Steve’s body whenever he touches him until Steve’s pinning him against the door and kissing him until they’re both naked again.

 

It’s late when they finally stumble into clothes, grinning and jostling each other as they head out into the hall.  “I’ll see you in a few?” Tony says, leaning up.

 

Steve meets him, kissing him slowly, lingering, until footsteps start to approach, and then he steps away.  “Something herbal,” Steve says.

 

“You and your twigs,” Tony mutters, but he’s smiling like he’s never realized what happiness actually felt like until right now, and he would give anything to hold onto Steve for every breath he has left.

 

“Get,” Steve says, giving him a light push that Tony allows, heading off.  He looks over his shoulder just as Steve is disappearing through a doorway, and bites his lip when Steve kisses the air over his shoulder.

 

“Damn it,” he says, turning back and ducking his head when Thor passes him by so that he won’t see how stupid his face looks.

 

“Ah, friend Tony!” Thor exclaims, “Joy suits you.”

 

“Shut up,” Tony mutters, and Thor’s laugh is like a thunderclap.

 

——

 

_0630 hours_

“Rise and shine,” Nat says softly, reaching up to tug the blankets back from Wanda’s head.

 

“It’s too early,” Wanda mumbles into her pillow.

 

“Actually, we have an appointment.”

 

“It’s Thursday,” Wanda whines.

 

“Exactly!” Nat exclaims, throwing the blanket off of her, “Late starts today, so we’re going down to the gym.”

 

“For what purpose?” Wanda asks, peering over at her through one eye, “It can’t possibly be better than sleeping in.  I only get to one day a week, and you’re ruining it.”

 

“Nonsense,” Natasha says, “This’ll be fun.”

 

“Why are you so chipper?  Did someone poison you?”

 

Natasha laughs, walking away as she goes to dress.  Wanda continues to lie in bed, though she watches Nat get ready as she tries to decide if she really wants to get out of bed.

 

“I still think the observation room sounds like a better idea,” an unfamiliar voice floats out, and Wanda’s eyes go wide as she pushes upright and over, looking down into Natasha’s bunk, where Thor is stretched out, tossing a small ball into the air overhead.  “Hey dearie,” he chimes, flashing her a smile, “How did you dream?”

 

“That’s an odd question,” Wanda murmurs before she straightens, stretches, and promptly rolls out of bed, landing on her feet.

 

“You’re like a cat,” another voice says, and she looks over to find Quill sitting on her desk, rummaging through one of her notebooks.

 

“Thief,” she accuses, snatching it out of her hands.

 

“It’s not like it was interesting,” he says, “I was hoping for something more like—ah, this!” he exclaims, lifting another notebook, which Wanda quickly wrestles out of him.

 

“Why are there men in our room?” she asks, turning to Natasha, who is holding up two shirts, looking at Thor.  Wanda’s shoulders sag as she watches them, shaking her head in disbelief when Thor points to the black one, and Nat’s smile goes wicked.  “More appropriately,” Wanda continues, “Why are there _people_ in our room?  You don’t even like me.”

 

“I happen to like you very much,” Natasha says, twisting out of her shirt and tugging on the tight black one, “And I happen to like these two, as well.  Clint said I had to make friends,” she adds, her tone going flat.

 

“So a thief and a pirate?”

 

“Am I the pirate?” Thor asks, “I feel like that’s accurate.”

 

“I have never—stolen anything from you,” Quill quickly amends, “I was only borrowing.”

 

“Personal property,” Wanda says, and then smacks him upside the head with one of the notebooks.  “I’m watching you,” she says.

 

“I’m okay with that,” Quill responds, grinning.

 

“Excuse you,” Thor says, “I’m sure Wanda would much rather you didn’t make lewd comments at her.”

 

“Or my boyfriends will shake their fists at you,” she says, and Quill’s grin widens.

 

“She’s a lost cause,” Natasha informs Thor, “Sorry.”

 

“What _are_ we doing this early with these—men?” Wanda asks, pushing Quill off her desk before she goes to find clothes to change into.

 

“Something dreadful,” Natasha groans.

 

“Yoga!” Thor exclaims, flinging himself upright.

 

“You were enthusiastic when you were waking me up,” Wanda mutters.

 

“I wanted you to suffer with me.”

 

“Heathen,” Quill says.

 

“Don’t make me shame you,” Nat says, pointing a knife at him that Quill grins at.

 

“She’s stronger than she looks,” Wanda says.

 

“And scarier,” Thor comments happily, “It’s delightful.”  


“We’re keeping them,” Nat warns her, and then they’re left waiting for Wanda to get ready, so she quickly changes, Nat throws the knife at Quill when he stares, and Thor just laughs at all of them, content to just be around others after a year of only Quill for company.  Weapon X was such a huge facility that being crammed into a tiny ship with only one other person has left him yearning for contact of any kind, and he is overwhelmed with how easily they’re becoming part of this incredible unit.

 

——

 

_0700 hours_

Bruce wakes slowly.

 

They rotate late starts so that every room has a day to sleep in and relax a little in the morning, something that’s been left over from the Watney era, and though it’s not their day, he’d quietly asked Steve the night before if he and Betty could have some time alone.  It’s curious, sometimes, how understanding Steve is, but then he recalls his rapt attention to anything Lewis had ever done, and it makes sense.  Though he’d assumed him a military brat from the first moment, Bruce knows now that his compassion far outweighs his willingness to obey.

 

And for this, he is given this moment, to wake to Betty’s bare back and smile, peppering her skin with soft, warming kisses until she’s smiling and reaching for him, pulling him up to press them together.

 

It’s been different, in space.  He doesn’t see Betty nearly as often as he thought he would, and even when he visits the lab, she’s always with Natasha or Wanda.  He’s happy that she finally has others in her life, after so long hiding from everyone to avoid her father’s gaze, but he misses her, misses the way her smile changes when she sees him, misses the soft touch of her fingers inside his elbow when she’s excited, misses the quiet exchange of words she presses against his skin in the dead of night.

 

“Stop thinking,” Betty whispers now, winding her fingers through his hair and tugging, “Your hair is getting long.”

 

“And grey,” Bruce says, reaching up to tangle his hand with hers, “I look like someone’s grandfather.”

 

“I’m incredibly attracted to it.”

 

“Really?” Bruce says, smiling, “I wouldn’t have pegged you for an older man.”

 

“Oh, hush,” Betty says, leaning back down against him.

 

Bruce sighs, pulling her closer, shifting until he can roll them and show her every thought that’s been plaguing him, every moment he wants to be alone with her, and she’s grinning when they finally come apart, Bruce breathing hard.

 

“Oh yeah?” Betty says.

 

“Shut _up_ ,” Bruce says, giving her a shove, “You’re such a—minx.”

 

Betty laughs, loud and clear, and Bruce can’t help but smile so wide it makes his face ache.  “I honestly thought you were going to say brat,” Betty says, “How foolish I am it seems.”

 

“Brat is reserved for one person in particular,” Bruce says, and his smile doesn’t falter, but Betty gives him a look that does the trick.

 

“Stop it,” she says, “It’s over.  I’m yours, forever, and you need to stop falling for him, particularly because he’s busy falling in a different direction.”

 

“I know,” Bruce says, “I’m just concerned.”

 

“He’s not your business,” Betty says, “Bruce, please.  Just you and me.”  Bruce looks up at her as she lifts a leg over him, dropping down until her forearms are by his head, hovering just above him.  “Just you and me,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss him, and Bruce closes his eyes, breathing her in.

 

“You’re intoxicating,” he murmurs when she finally pulls away.

 

“Drunk on love,” she starts singing, and Bruce groans, “I feel like I’m a hopeless romantic!”

 

“What did I ever do to deserve this?” Bruce whines, throwing her off and rolling over to bury his face in her neck, “All I ever did was love you senseless.”

 

“Well, you’ve certainly fucked me senseless before,” Betty says, and Bruce dissolves into laughter.

 

——

 

_0800 hours_

_Steve: Where is everyone?_

_Johnny: We’re very busy, shhhhhhh._

_Steve: No, seriously.  Why is it so quiet?_

_Tony: My dad used to ask that.  He was always afraid of the answer._

_Steve: Probably because you were working up to an explosion._

_Tony: Life is more fun with fire._

_Peter: The Galilean moons are out, and I convinced Johnny to break the rules and watch them a little longer._

_Betty: Bruce tied me to the bed!_

_Bruce: Then how are you typing?_

_Bruce: Don’t make me into a villain!_  
  


_Natasha: Okay, but Thor._

_Natasha: Doing yoga._

_Natasha: splits splits splits_

_Tony: Shut up, I’m on my way._

_Wanda: Quill’s a sneaky fighter, FYI._

_Thor: I challenge thee to handstand push-ups!_

_Johnny: how the hell_

_Peter: It’s my fault.  I thought they were cool, so I added them in._

_Quill: We are cool.  Watch out._

_Quill: HOLY SHIT GET THIS BLACK CLAD DEMON AWAY FROM ME SHE KEEPS TRYING TO THROW KNIVES AT ME_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So updates have started to spread out for two reasons. One, there's been a pretty big lack of feedback, and while I know one of my regular readers is currently away, it was still a little shocking to watch two chapters go by without any comments. I made a post about it on Tumblr, but the gist of it is this: I write for me, I post for you. Amending that, I write for myself and Erin, but I only ever post online to share it with others. I'm not here to beg for comments or ask for praise, just letting you know that, just as TV shows are cancelled when there isn't enough feedback, I'll keep on writing but slowly stop posting. It's more like forgetting. It started happening with my college au after a while. I would just--not remember to put a new chapter up because, to me, it didn't seem like anyone was interested. Reason number two is that I'm currently writing an 00q that I'm freaking _in love with ___, so it's been taking up a lot of my writing time, which Erin actually just yelled at me about. Marvel and Panic! at the Disco have always been the two fandoms I constantly come back to, and I've recently added the Daniel Craig era of James Bond to that small list because I'm still reading fanfiction and have bookmarked WAY more for them than any of my other fandoms, and I've come back to this particular fic three separate times to rewrite it. Currently, it's really looking like it's going to take off (it fucking better, I just passed the 30k in a week mark), so the space au is a bit on a side burner while I work on this.
> 
> _Rambling aside, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 502 days after the crew of Icarus leaves Earth, chaos finally descends.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: peterparker]_

_[password: spiderwebs]_

_Message Subject: PETEY_

Peter groans at the subject line, knowing immediately who will be waiting on the other side of the camera for him.  When the video finally finishes loading, he presses play, immediately telling Johnny to shut up when he starts making fun of him.

 

“ _Petey_!” Wade and Harry yell at the same time.

 

“Dude, what the shit,” Wade says, “We send you off into space, and you spend it having more fun than us losers!”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Harry says, shoving Wade, “I’m having a straight up ball.  The company’s really taking off, man.  I’m so proud of it.”

 

“Yeah, you is,” Wade grumbles as he appears back onscreen, “He keeps rambling on about figures and numbers and borin’ shit.  When you comin’ home, Petey?”

 

“Not for five years, dumbass,” Harry says, rolling his eyes, “Dude, seriously, though.  Cut the shit.  Stop having adventures.  Every time Aunt May gets a call from Clint, she looks like she’s about to fall over.  He’s the only one getting news anymore, and even then, he’s being sneaky about it.  He told us something big had happened recently, but couldn’t find out what, just that something had given you guys a boost through the asteroid belt.”

 

“So here’s my conspiracy theory,” Wade whispers, leaning forward, “It was the Chinese, wasn’t it?  Just like with Mark whoshisface, they totally done helped you out, chicken nugget, I knew it.”

 

“They didn’t send anyone to help them, idiot,” Harry says, pulling him back, “Anyway, we _have_ to tell you about this new game we got.”

 

Wade lets out a loud exclamation, and then they’re off, going back and forth, and Peter watches with a smile wide enough that Johnny pokes fun again, so Peter throws his shoe at him.

 

——

 

_May 17, 2073_

_1800 hours_

_Natasha: Just an FYI, I’m going to murder our engineer._

Steve doesn’t open the message at first, too busy watching Bucky perform a remote maneuver with Daedalus, but then Tony comes skidding into the flight deck and says, “I swear I didn’t do anything.”

 

Steve looks up and over, frowning at him.  “What?” he says.

 

“Check your chat,” Tony says, looking over his shoulder, “Nat said she’s going to murder me.”

 

“What did you do?” Steve sighs, tapping Bucky on the shoulder before he comes over.

 

“Nothing, I swear!” Tony exclaims, finally turning back to Steve, “I haven’t had a single exclusive conversation with her in a week.  I’ve been busy, reworking code with Wanda, who’s been moping, by the way.”

 

“Cap!” Peter’s voice rings out over the intercoms, “Gonna need you in the observatory!”

 

“Johnny,” Steve sighs, stepping around Tony and hurrying out of the flight deck.

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tony says quietly, turning to leave.

 

“No, you aren’t,” Bucky says, not looking back at him, “You relish in any chance to get him away from me.”

 

“Excuse you,” Tony snaps, turning back, “I have never once deliberately tried to pull Steve away from his duties.  In case you hadn’t noticed—”

 

“Oh please,” Bucky drawls, “Spare me the pity party.  You aren’t actually afraid of Natasha.”

 

“Mildly, yes,” Tony says, “But I was on my way here to see how the maneuver was going, and her text came through.”

 

“Bull _shit_ ,” Bucky says slowly as he finishes off the maneuver, beginning the magnetization of Daedalus to them again.  As the program begins to load, Bucky pulls up another screen while he talks, “I’m not an idiot, Tony.  I see through all of the carefully constructed walls you two think you have built.”

 

Tony jumps when the door to the flight deck slams shut behind him.  “Bucky,” he says, frowning.

 

Bucky gets up from his station, coming around his seat.  “I’ve had enough,” he says, “I stood by and watched all the tarts he paraded by with, mended every broken heart they created, but I will not do the same with you.  He is not yours to ruin.”

 

“Fuck you,” Tony snarls, “You don’t know anything.”

 

“I know you’re fucking him,” Bucky says, “You can deny it all you want, but he’s different.  He’s distracted, and I know it’s your fault.  He—”

 

Tony barks out an empty laugh as Bucky starts to close the distance between them.  “He’s happy, asshole, or do you not know what that looks like on him?”

 

Bucky lunges at him.

 

——

 

Johnny ducks a wild fist, sneaks in a jab to Nat’s ribs, and then bows backward under her knuckles against his jaw.  Peter tries to jump forward even as Nat spins, foot coming out to connect with his sternum as her fingers dart up, seeking out his throat, and he collapses to the ground, gasping for air.

 

“You think you can fuck around with her like that and get away with it?” Nat roars, grabbing Johnny by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the wall, “You want a fuck buddy, you find someone else!”

 

Johnny spits, darting away from Nat when she lets him go in surprise.  “We didn’t do anything!” he yells, arms coming up, “If something’s wrong, Wanda can come to us instead of sicking her rabid dog on us!”

 

Nat lets out an unintelligible insult, jumping at Johnny.

 

“Holy shit!” Thor yells as he comes running in, “What the fuck, guys!”

 

Steve is not far behind him, shouldering past Thor and toward Nat, who has Johnny pinned to the ground, arm raised above him.  She gets one solid punch in, eliciting a strangled noise from Johnny, before Steve hauls her off of him.  “Natasha!” he shouts, holding her as she thrashes.

 

Natasha lands a wicked elbow to his ribs, forearm rocketing up to deliver her knuckles against Steve’s mouth, and he tastes copper as he releases her on instinct, stepping back.  Johnny scrambles upright, but not before Nat can get her hands on him, snatching up his wrist and yanking his arm back.

 

Johnny crashes to his knees, crying out as she twists his arm back, other one coming around to press against his throat.

 

Thor casts one wild glance at Steve before starting forward, but Steve grabs him, shaking his head.  “I got this,” he says, stepping in front of Nat and Johnny.  “Let him go,” he says, staring at Nat’s red curls, waiting for her to look up.  “Natasha!” he bellows when she doesn’t.

 

“He—”

 

“ _Let him go_!”

 

Nat jerks back, releasing Johnny, who sags against the ground, choking.

 

“Natasha,” Steve says, stepping forward, prepared to move between her and Johnny when she kicks him, foot cracking off his side with enough force that Johnny skids across the ground.

 

Steve jumps forward as Peter finally manages to get to his feet, still breathing hard as he stumbles over to Johnny.  “That’s enough,” Steve says, getting in Nat’s way, “Go.”

 

Nat’s fist comes whistling through the air.  Steve blocks it, knocking her arm away from him, stepping forward to kick at her ankle to unbalance her before he delivers a blow that echoes through the observatory, an open palmed strike to her chest, and Nat goes down, falling to one knee.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks immediately, turning.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Thor says, helping Peter get Johnny upright.

 

“Let him go, then,” Steve says, and Thor blinks at him, finally recognizing the cold, angry set of Steve’s gaze.

 

“Steve,” Thor tries, grip tightening on Johnny’s elbow, but then Johnny jerks away from him, squaring his shoulders as he forces himself upright, staring back at Steve.

 

“Go ahead,” he seethes, “Confine me to quarters.”

 

“What did you do?” Steve demands instead.

 

“Nothing!” Peter exclaims, “It’s all a misunderstanding!  We just—”

 

“Did I ask you to speak?” Steve says, not looking at Peter.

 

“Steve—”

 

“ _Silence_.”

 

Peter balks, looking away as Steve waits out Johnny.  When Johnny speaks, his voice is rough, “We made a mistake.”

 

“Elaborate.  Now,” Steve says furiously.

 

“Hey Cap,” Sam comes over the intercom.

 

“Busy, Sam.  Can it wait?”

  
“I mean—I’m pretty sure someone’s gonna die.”

 

Steve closes his eyes, inhaling through his nose.  “I fell in love with Peter,” Johnny says, “And not Wanda, and she’s pissed off about that.”

 

“You threw her away like she didn’t mean _anything_ to you!” Nat roars back to life, getting to her feet, “All she asked was if she could still be a part of this fucking thing you three were doing, and you told her to get lost!”

 

Peter bristles, stepping away from Thor.  “Johnny would never—”

 

“Stop,” Steve says wearily, “Sam, what’s going on?”

 

“Bucky locked the door to the flight deck.”

 

“And?”

 

“And Tony’s inside.”

 

——

 

Tony doesn’t realize he’s fighting for his life until he sees a knife twist through the air, and a gash opens across his shoulder.

 

“Bucky!” he yelps, only blocking as Bucky attacks him, “What is going on?  Put that away!”

 

“I will _not_ let you break him,” Bucky snarls, moving in quick, blinding movements, enough that Tony has to put all of his effort into protecting himself.

 

“I’m not trying to break him!” Tony exclaims, “And Jesus, Bucky, he’s a fucking adult, he can handle himself.  He’s not fucking fragile.”

 

“You don’t know what I went through with him!  You don’t know what it was like to be at war with him!”

 

“I don’t, you’re right,” Tony says, switching to a different tactic, “I wasn’t there for him when he was growing up, or through the most harrowing journey of his life, or even after, picking up the pieces, but you were, and you still can be.”

 

“Don’t try to put this on me!” Bucky bellows, and Tony shouts when his knife cuts again, opening his forearm.  He drops to his knees and rolls, springing up behind Bucky, who turns, blade whipping through the air, and Tony misses it by a breath, staggering backward.

 

“Okay,” Tony says, shaking out his arm, sending blood scattering across the room, “You wanna fucking tango, be my guest.”

 

For all the military training Bucky has had, Tony’s had years to perfect his love of martial arts, and he steps up like he’s across from his trainer, ready to fight to the ground.  He comes at Bucky with everything he has, and there are no words anymore, just skin hitting skin, knuckles bloodying and this quiet admission between them—they are both fighting for the love of the same man.

 

Tony hears, distinctly, someone trying to break in, but he files it away for later and instead focuses on the way Bucky’s breaths are shifting, past controlled and into panic.  This is too real for him, too close, and Tony recognizes the attack long before it starts to register to Bucky.

 

He takes a knife to the leg for his next move, stepping in close, letting Bucky hit him in the meat of his thigh before he cages him in, unbalances him with a carefully placed knee and spins him, pulling them both down.  His knifed leg lands on Bucky’s outstretched arm, pinning it there, while he traps his other knee in against his ribs, shin pressing down against his other arm.

 

“Breathe,” Tony says, reaching up to press down against his shoulders.  Bucky throws his weight up, tries to unseat Tony, who just shakes his head and inhales loudly.  “Look at me,” he says on the exhale when Bucky keeps fighting.

 

Bucky’s dark gaze snaps up to meet his blue one, and Tony grits his teeth at the fear flooding through.  “Breathe, Bucky,” he says softly, making his breaths audible, “You’re on Icarus.  You’re in space.  You’re flying toward Europa.”

 

The flight deck doors burst open, and Steve runs in.  Tony lifts one hand from Bucky’s shoulder, palm flipped out, and Steve stops moving.  “The war is over,” Tony says, lowering his hand again, “Can you tell me why you’re in space?”

 

“NASA sent us,” Bucky says, closing his eyes, “I’m okay.”

 

“You gonna try to stab me again?”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve mutters.

 

Bucky’s face transforms at Steve’s voice, an ancient kind of sorrow distorting his features, and Tony releases him as soon as he sees it, letting out a quiet stream of profanity as he limps away, dropping into the chair at Sam’s desk.

 

Sam hurries over to Bucky as Steve watches Tony touch the knife in his leg and then make a face at it, though he doesn’t remove it.  “I’m fine,” Bucky says, getting up and shrugging Sam away.

 

“You’re not,” Sam says, turning to Steve, “He’s been having nightmares.”

 

“Sam!”

 

“I’m not doing this anymore,” Sam says, looking back to him, “You just fucking _stabbed_ Tony because you’re pissed off because—shit, because he’s sleeping with Steve!  Fucking _get over it_!”

 

“Okay then,” Quill says as he steps inside, an apple in hand, “This is an interesting development.”

 

“Get out,” Steve says.

 

“Thor’s here,” Quill says, leaning against the doorframe.

 

Steve turns, a damning sentence on its way out, when Quill sees his expression, eyes blowing wide, before he turns and scurries back down the hall.  “Want me to skedaddle?” Thor asks.

 

“Please report back to your quarters and remain there,” Steve says evenly, “I’ll let everyone know via the group chat what will happen next.”

 

“Duly noted,” Thor says before he leaves.

 

Steve turns back, looking to Tony, who says, “Jay, patch Cap into a private frequency with Bruce, please.”

 

“At your service, sir,” Jarvis says a moment later.

 

“Bruce?”

 

“Is everyone done dying?” Bruce asks, and Steve might have laughed if it weren’t for the knife sticking out of Tony’s thigh.

 

“Can you please come attend to an incident in the flight deck?  Tony’s been stabbed in the thigh.”

 

“Shit,” Bruce says, “What happened?”

 

“When you’re through,” Steve continues, “You have command of Icarus while I deal with the fallout of this.”

 

There’s a moment of silence before Bruce says, “Yes, sir.”

 

Steve turns away from Tony and says, “Sam, please escort Bucky to his room.  Collect Johnny, Nat, and Peter on your way.  Please have Peter perform a secure lockdown on each room.  If Wanda is there, she is to be removed.”

 

“Steve,” Tony starts to say, but Steve’s shoulders hitch up toward his ears, and he swallows his words.

 

——

 

Steve takes a moment.

 

He walks through Icarus to the ancillary bridge that Tony just _had_ to have, commands Jarvis to lift the shields, and stares out at space, just breathing in time with it, which is to say not at all.  He lets himself break a little, just enough that he needs to put the pieces back together, and then he returns.

 

He sits with Natasha for over an hour, letting her scream at him and whip things across the room, shattering against the wall.  He wonders if something else is going on, and even tries to pry a little, but it becomes quickly evident that Nat’s temper is shorter than her hair.  Steve presses his fingers against his eyes and wonders how he never saw it.

 

He cuts her off mid-shout as he stands and says, “You’re confined to quarters until further notice.  Wanda will be bunking with Sam for now.”

 

“And Bucky?” she snarls, “You really think that’s a good idea after today?  He’s unstable, Steve.”

 

“As are you,” he says before he pulls open the door and leaves.

 

He sits with Bucky next, though only for a few minutes.  He barely speaks other than to assure Steve he’s okay and to apologize.  “Save it for later,” Steve says, “Seek forgiveness from Tony, not me.”  When Bucky looks up, stricken, he continues, “You stabbed him.  Several times.  This shit happening right now—” Steve breaks off, shaking his head.  He gets up, pacing away, putting distance between them.  “I trusted you,” he says finally, “I needed you here because I thought you could help ground the wild energy the rest of this team carries.  I’m so sorry I didn’t see what was going on.  I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you.  But this—” Steve jerks a hand at him, “You should have told me you were having trouble.  All of this could have been avoided.”

 

“You’re still sleeping with Tony,” Bucky says, watching him, “Or is that not how you would classify it?”

 

“No.  It’s not.”

 

“Do you love him?” Bucky asks, though it opens up a well of darkness inside of him.

 

“I’m learning to,” Steve says before he leaves, before he says anything else to damage them.

 

He sits with Johnny last, and for the longest.  When he steps inside, Johnny jumps to his feet, immediately trying to explain, but Steve holds up a hand and says, “Jarvis, cut all video feed.  Make it look like an accident,” and Johnny frowns at him.

 

“Sir, videos will load in two minutes.”

 

“Listen to me,” Steve says quickly, “I need you to do something for me.”

 

“Okay,” Johnny says slowly.

 

“We need to make sure that Thor and Quill are not here to sabotage this mission.  I know that we have confirmed that General Ross was behind the hack, but NASA is struggling to find any records of them, and I need you to make sure we’re safe.”

 

“Because I’m supposed to be pissed off with you right now,” Johnny says, “Okay.  I can do this.  How?”

 

“You’re confined to quarters until I see fit to release you.  For the next hour or so, we will discuss what just transpired, and I welcome you to release any and all anger you have been carrying toward me.  Make this real.  I need you to be unruly and a possible threat to this team.  I need them to trust that side of you if they mean us ill will.”

 

“And if they do?”

 

“I swear to you, Johnny, I will let no harm come to you,” Steve says, “But first, I need you to turn this team against you.  Isolate yourself.”

 

Johnny takes a deep breath and says, “I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erin is mad at me because I haven't been writing this--honest to God, I've spent the last week and a half devoting all my free time to almost 40k of the 00q fic--and so keep an eye out because there may be a starbucks dog fic randomly showing up at some point this week. Don't freak out when I say I haven't been writing this, though. I have the next chapter written, and while, admittedly, that's it, all it'll take is a few space movies and _The Martian_ soundtrack to get me back on track. Provided I don't keep watching Ben Whishaw movies and just fall further into this trap. I finally caved and bought the Q scrabble mug. I'm a mess.
> 
> In other news, I hope you all enjoyed this wild chapter, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of Icarus tries to piece themselves back together while their fearless leader breaks apart.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: samuelwilson]_

_[password: redwing]_

_Message Subject: How is he?_

Sam frowns when he sees the subject line, checks the sender, and finds that it’s Rebecca.  Steve moved Bucky and Natasha into confinement a few days after their respective fights, and while Johnny has not joined them, he also hasn’t been allowed out of his living quarters.  They’re still allowed the now tri-weekly media dumps, but Sam knew it was only a matter of time before Rebecca was reaching out to him.

 

“Hey,” she says softly as the video starts playing, “I know this is unfair to ask of you, Sam, as you only get a certain amount of free time, and you have friends and family to respond to, but—can you please let me know how my brother is?  I’ve sent him tons from myself and the kids, but I’m worried about him, being cooped up like that.  I’m worried it’s going to trigger something from his time—in, um—when he was behind the line,” she says quickly, and Sam’s frown deepens when she lifts a shaking hand to wipe at her eyes, “I understand why Steve did what he did, but it just hurts me to think that they’ve drifted so far apart.  Bucky won’t say, but I can read him better than he can himself sometimes.  It’s that friend of Steve’s, isn’t it?  Tony, I think?  Bucky kept saying how they were growing closer in training, and it was worrying him.  I know—god, I know he still carries a torch for Steve, and I know Steve buried that a long time ago, but maybe knock a little sense in that big, dumb blonde, yeah?” Rebecca laughs softly, and Sam echoes her, smiling sadly.  She sighs loudly, shrugs, and says, “Just keep an eye on him, please.  He needs help, now more than ever, and you’re one of his best friends.  He trusts you so much.  He’s lucky to have you, Sam.  Thank you.”

 

The video ends, and Sam lifts a hand, scrubbing it over his face before he groans and shuts his laptop, going off to find Steve to beg some time with Bucky.

 

——

 

_June 9, 2073_

_0900 hours_

Steve waits.

 

“Are you holding your breath?” Bruce asks.  He shakes his head when Steve exhales.  “That won’t help your already elevated blood pressure.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, watching Bruce undo the pressure cuff before he twists, popping his spine, “I can’t—I don’t even know what I can’t anymore.”

 

Bruce studies him for a moment before stepping in again, lifting a small flashlight up.  “Follow my finger, please.”  Steve does as he’s asked, mouth pulling down to match Bruce’s frown.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“Your pupils are slightly dilated.  Did you take anything?”

 

“No.”

 

“How’s your head?”

 

Steve shrugs one shoulder.  “It hurts.”

 

“Significantly?”

 

“Bruce,” Steve sighs.

 

“Don’t  _Bruce_  me,” Bruce says, walking away, “Tony does it, too, but in this great whine, and I always want to stab him with the nearest sharp object.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“I did once.  I still don’t regret it.”  Bruce finally retrieves his tablet, pulling up Steve’s file as he comes back over.  “Your mother had a history of migraines,” Bruce says even as he types, “I told you to keep me informed if you were starting to get headaches.”

 

“I’m fine,” Steve says.  Bruce doesn’t look up, but his eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.  “I’m fine,” Steve repeats, “Am I clear?”

 

“No,” Bruce says, “I’m recommending at least an hour in the relaxation room.  And though I can’t believe this is my medical opinion, I’m also recommending some down time with Tony.  Who knows how I’m going describe that in my report, but whatever.”

 

“You’re not—upset about that?” Steve asks, frowning at the way that comes out.

 

“About you and Tony?” Bruce asks, glancing at him, “I was.  It’s in the past.  All of that is in the past.”

 

“Can I ask you what happened there?  Or absolutely not, you can just ignore me,” Steve says, “I know that’s incredibly personal.”

 

“Have you asked Tony?” Bruce says as he puts his tablet down and takes his glasses off, looking at Steve.  When he nods, the corner of Bruce’s mouth tugs up, and he says, “He’s not good at talking about it.  He always lies and says it was his fault.”

 

“I mean, I’m inclined to believe that,” Steve says.

 

Bruce laughs, short and humorless.  “Betty and I wanted to explore a little.  Tony was already our friend and sexually ambiguous.  Things happened naturally.  Betty and I started to fall for him at the same time, and then we realized that he was in just as deep, and it started to get bad.  Rotten, almost.  It was bizarre.  Then, Ross came in.  He told Tony he would destroy everything he loved and spare only his daughter.  He told him that he would make Tony watch.”

 

“Why?” Steve says, aghast.

 

“He had found out about our work.  He wanted it shut down.  We refused to listen, so he wedged something dark and dangerous between us.  Tony broke Betty’s heart, told her it had all meant nothing to him, that he was just bored and playing house, and then he left.”

 

“But you know what happened,” Steve says.

 

“He told me the night before he left for Malibu.  It was the last time I saw him for— _years_.  We wrote sometimes, letters, but he would never answer my calls.  We were in California one time, teaching at a workshop.  As soon as Tony found out, he left, flew out to New York to spend some time at his local office.”

 

“Was it the Europa Expedition that brought you back together?”  When Bruce nods, Steve can’t help but gape.  “All that time, and I thought—he fought so hard for you to be part of the team.”

 

“He did?” Bruce says, and it’s his turn to look surprised, “I was under the impression it was the opposite.  He’s been different around us.  Distant, almost.  I understand, of course, but I never imagined he wanted us here.”

 

“They convinced him to join the committee only on the agreement that you and Betty would be joining the final team.  I always thought you knew.”

 

“Never,” Bruce admits, “Well, he’s always telling me he’s like an onion.”

 

“Layers to peel back,” Steve mimics, and Bruce laughs, turning away.  He works in a comfortable silence until Steve stands from table, hands coming up to rest on his hips.

 

Bruce turns to him, nodding.  “Business as usual,” Bruce says, “How can I help you, Cap?”

 

“I know that there is a level of patient confidentiality, but can you give me a rundown of things?” Steve asks.

 

“Bones, that’s it,” Bruce says, pointing a stylus at him, “Nat is definitely better than she was.  I think a visit would be beneficial to both of you.  I also gave Wanda permission to visit under the grounds that she informs me first.  Johnny is aggravated.  Despite his access being reinstated to the rest of the ship, he’s haunting everyone, airing his grievances.  He’s very convincing.”  Steve nods, but makes no further comment.  Bruce holds his gaze before he looks down at his tablet, tapping the stylus against it.  “Bucky isn’t doing as well as I had hoped.”

 

Steve’s exhale rushes out, tension fanning out along his shoulders as he does.  “Can I help?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” Bruce says honestly, looking back up, “He needs a friend.  Sam has done a lot for him, but I think it’s high time you sat with him.  You need to resolve this.”

 

“Okay,” Steve say, straightening.

 

“Not now,” Bruce amends, “I can see that headache worsening every second.  My recommendation is quickly turning into a requirement.  Put on something grounding in the relaxation room.  Mountains or a forest or something that smells like home.  Let Tony pamper you, he’s good at that, and  _then_  go visit Bucky.  In that order, Steve.”

 

“Thank you, Bruce.”

 

He leaves Bruce tapping away at his tablet and goes off in search of Tony.

 

——

 

_1200 hours_

“Hey,” Peter says flatly as he comes into the room, holding a meal pack in one hand and a drink in the other, “It’s that time of the day.”

 

Johnny waits until the door is closed before he says, trying to keep his voice low, “Can I talk to you?”

 

“Are you going to be an asshole about it?” Peter asks, throwing the meal pack at him, “Because, quite frankly, I’m sick of being near you.”

 

“I know,” Johnny says, getting up and coming over, “I know, but—Peter, you have to trust me.”

 

“Why should I?” Peter says, stepping away from him, “The other night, you were talking about possibly going on an unsanctioned spacewalk.  You know where that’s gotten us in the past.  Do you _want_ to piss off Steve more?  Do you want to spend the rest of your time locked in this room, or worse, downstairs with Bucky and Nat?  Do you honestly think the decisions you’ve made are good ones?”

 

“God, I love you,” Johnny sighs, “When NASA inevitably tells us to fuck off and never allows us to go into space again, you’ll be the exception.”

 

“The fuck are you talking about?” Peter says, frowning, “I’m done with the riddles, Johnny.  I’m done with all of this bullshit.”

 

Johnny closes the distance between them, grabbing one of Peter’s hands before he can leave.  “Please,” Johnny says, “Just trust me.”

 

“With _what_?” Peter demands, trying to pull his hand back and glaring at Johnny when he holds tighter.

 

“With all of this,” Johnny says, “I need you to be on my side.  I need you to trust that _this_ —” he releases Peter to gesture at himself, “—is for a reason.”

 

Peter blinks, his frown deepening.  “What do you mean?”

 

“I can’t tell you,” Johnny says, “Not yet.  But I can’t do this with you, can’t lie to you and treat you like shit.  It isn’t fair.”

 

“No, it isn’t,” Peter says, “Why should I believe you?”

 

“Why shouldn’t you?  You’re my best friend.”

 

Peter continues to frown at him when he asks, “Do I have to leave this room still mad at you?”

 

“Surface level.”

 

“Okay, James Bond,” Peter says before he leaves, and Johnny sighs when he’s gone.  It’s been absolute torture at night, Peter sleeping as far from him as he could until they’d fought badly one morning, and he’s been up on his bunk since then, not speaking and not letting Johnny anywhere near him.  He knows that he needs to keep this up, but it’s been more difficult than he imagined, particularly because he’s not nearly as angry with Steve as he thought he would be.

 

He wonders, briefly, if that’s because he’s starting to understand him and the sheer weight that sits on his shoulders every day as captain of the first mission into space since the Ares Program.

 

Johnny looks up when there’s a knock on his door.  “Come in?” he says unsurely, and, to his utter surprise, Thor walks through.

 

“Hey man,” Thor says, closing the door, “What’s crackin’?”

 

“Did Steve give you permission to visit?” Johnny asks, and then winces when he realizes how curious his tone sounds.  He switches tracks, lies on the sarcasm, and says, “Has he finally decided I’m fit for human consumption again?”

 

“I don’t think he’d ever allow that, actually,” Thor says, quirking an eyebrow in his direction, “How’s that attitude treating you?”

 

“Still in confinement, so it seems to be helping,” Johnny seethes, tossing his meal pack onto his bed before following it, “I’ve never masturbated so much in so little time.”

 

“I find that hard to believe,” Thor says, “Any good movies on your drive?”

 

“Man, what do you want?  You broke in here for a reason,” Johnny says, shifting so he looks as uncaring as possible.

 

“Heard you’ve been talking about getting out there,” Thor says, nodding toward the wall, “I was wondering if you needed a hand.”

 

——

 

_1400 hours_

Steve’s on his way to Tony when Wanda finds him.

 

“Steve, thank god,” she says as she comes around the corner and spots him, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, frowning when he turns, one of the lights overhead flaring brightly.

 

“I need to talk to you about Nat,” she pleads, and that takes up an hour of his time.  When he’s finally agreeing to sit with Natasha, Wanda starts leading them toward the lower levels, and Steve stops her, letting her know it will have to wait until later.  She looks so distraught at this that Steve sighs and nods, making the trek down to their confinement rooms.

 

They were something Tony refused and NASA mandated, and then Tony had been so vocal about his plans to sabotage their creation, whether he was honest or not in his grumblings, NASA removed him from the project, and now, when Steve walks down, he wishes Tony hadn’t been such an ass.  They’re clinical, with white walls and vibrant lights, illuminating every dark corner so there’s nowhere to hide.

 

“Please remain without,” Steve says when Wanda crowds him, “Nat and I can handle each other.”

 

“It was my fault, Steve,” Wanda says quickly, “She doesn’t deserve this.”

 

“Her response led to these repercussions, not you.  Wanda,” he adds sternly when she doesn’t move, and finally, she nods, backing away.

 

“About time,” Nat says when he comes in.

 

He doesn’t remember much of their conversation.  It starts off calm, a discussion about the events that preceded the incident, and Natasha admits fault, though she mutters it with a slight edge, and Steve can’t help but smile.  When he finally says, “You need to let Wanda take care of herself,” Natasha pushes upright from the table.

 

“Those _assholes_ ,” she snaps, and Steve closes his eyes.

 

He listens to her rant, pacing back and forth across the room, and he knows, he _knows_ he should have stopped this, but he keeps thinking about Tony’s smile, and he knows that he never would have been able to look them in the face and separate them while he was doing the same thing.

 

“Steve,” Natasha says, her voice louder than he remembers, and he looks up, eyes narrowed marginally.  “Are you okay?” she asks, “You don’t look good.”

 

“I’m tired,” he admits, “You—”

 

“It’s more than that,” Nat says, sitting across from him again, “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m fine,” he lies—he feels like he needs to throw up, like there are nails screwing into his temples—and stands, “The next time you lay hands on me, this will be a very different conversation.  Do you understand?”

 

Natasha sighs, but says, “Yes, sir.”

 

“You’re released from confinement.  Duties will resume first thing tomorrow morning.  Do _not_ go near Johnny.”

 

“Is that possible?” she asks.

 

“He’s still confined to quarters, so yes.  I don’t care what they did.  It’s up to them to resolve it, not you.  You are a marine biologist, not a babysitter.  Start acting like a part of this team.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Natasha says, bowing her head, and Steve thinks he may have finally gotten through to her.

 

He leaves first, letting Wanda bounce excitedly as Nat follows him, and though he considers going over to Bucky’s room, Steve needs to be somewhere quiet.

 

By the time he gets upstairs, he’s making a detour to the communal bathroom.  He’s hit with the blinding _need_ for Tony when his knees hit the ground, and, somehow in between everything else, he manages to get out a mangled text, hopes he remembered to send it privately, and folds over the toilet, heaving.

 

“Jesus,” Tony’s voice floats in a few minutes later, and then the lights go out.  Tony drops down next to him, leg pressing against his own as he rubs slow circles in Steve’s back even as Steve groans and leans his temple against the lid.  “Not so different after all,” Tony says, reaching up a hand to push Steve’s sweat-damp hair from his forehead, “How long have you been putting that off?”

 

Steve’s voice cracks when he speaks, “I meant to come find you hours ago.  Wanda found me first.”

 

“I heard Nat was released.”

 

“I need—” Steve breaks off, closing his eyes.

 

“I know,” Tony says, “Are you done?”

 

When he nods, Tony helps him stand, flushes, and leads him out of the room, talking quietly with Jarvis as he does, “Hey handsome, can you dim the lights in this part of the ship a little.  Just for a second, stop fussing.  You’ve got Cap’s okay.  Thank you, darling.”  Tony leads him quickly through the living quarters until they reach their room, and then Steve’s wincing, eyes narrowing when they enter, and it’s just— _god_ , there’s so much noise.

 

“Lay down,” Tony says, “Jarvis, cool it a little.  Help me divert some of this.”

 

Jarvis starts working, shutting down ancillary systems that they can live without for a few hours, cutting almost all power to their room but for the heat, and then he throws up a soft sound barrier in the background, just the occasional bird twitter.

 

When Tony finally steps away from his laptop, Steve is lying in bed, a pillow over his head, and knees drawn up to his chest.  “Are you a no-touch migrainer?” Tony asks.

 

“No,” Steve mumbles into the pillow, “Are you?”

 

“Absolutely.  Get the fuck away from me if I have one, I’ll eat your heart out.”

 

“I just,” Steve says, lifting out from under the pillow and looking over at Tony blearily, “Come here?”

 

“You look dopey,” Tony says even as he shoos Steve back against the wall and climbs in opposite him, drawing Steve into his arms.  Steve had always managed to take up so much space wherever he was, always pulling Tony’s attention to him, that it’s a little unsettling now, to see how small he can get as Tony holds him close, letting Steve burrow against him, breath shattering out in the space between them.  “I got you,” Tony promises, closing his eyes, “You’re safe here.”

 

Steve doesn’t say anything, but presses closer, holding onto him.

 

——

 

_June 12, 2073_

_0800 hours_

Natasha doesn’t expect anything when she wakes up.  Wanda is a bundle of energy, but she normally is, running about their room getting ready because something exciting is happening in the greenroom this morning, and Nat’s just too tired to listen to her.

 

Wanda shouts while running that she’ll catch up with her later for breakfast, and Nat watches her sprint around a corner, sighing.  She’s starting to feel stretched too thin up here.  When this would happen at NASA, she would take a week off and go somewhere exotic—or ridiculous—with Clint, just the two of them, but now, she just shoulders through it and keeps going.

 

And so, when she enters the kitchen area, she doesn’t notice the white, red, and blue streamers at first, too busy trying to banish the dark edges at her thoughts.

 

“Доброе утро,” a familiar voice chimes, and Natasha looks over abruptly, blinking when she sees Bucky sitting at the table.

 

“What the— _oh_ ,” she says when she looks up and sees the streamers.  The table is covered in confetti, and there’s something delightful-looking sitting in a small dish.

 

“It’s not exactly right,” Bucky says, lifting his coffee mug, “But we made do.”

 

“We?” Natasha asks, going over to the Russian pastry.

 

“Wanda, Sam, Steve, and I,” Bucky says, shrugging one shoulder, “I’m out on probation right now.”

 

“Is that the term he used?” Natasha asks as she cuts a piece and comes to sit opposite him.

 

“No duties, but I’m back bunking with Sam.”

 

“Smoky ass,” Natasha corrects him, “Holy shit.  Want some?”

 

“Is it good?” he asks, brightening a little as Natasha nods quickly and pulls the dish over to them, “So tell me why June 12th.  It sounds essentially like the Russian version of Independence Day.”

 

“It is,” Nat says, “But my mom used to cook all day and night before, and she never let my brothers sneak anything even while slipping me little pieces of something—anything.  When she died, we—well, I was already in training, and—”

 

“To be a spy,” Bucky interrupts.

 

“We don’t call it that,” Nat says, rolling her eyes, though she’s smiling, “My brothers had families back in Russia, and they never got in touch, so.  I stopped celebrating.”

 

“Forever?”

 

Natasha sighs dramatically.  “Clint found out.”

 

Bucky laughs.  “I’m sure that went over well.”

 

“He wore body paint.”

 

Bucky grins and points his fork at her.  “You enjoyed it.”

 

“Casually,” Nat says, forgoing her plate and just eating from the dish, “He made this.”

 

“Was it as good?  I know this is superb.”

 

Natasha laughs softly, and Bucky considers it an accomplishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of Icarus slowly begins to mend their drifting pieces back together while Tony begins a project that could change everything.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: stevenrogers]_

_[password: americathebrave]_

_Message Subject: yo, nasa sucks, i’m sorry you got the shit mission_

Steve can’t breathe.

 

He’s really not sure what to do with his hands, so he just lifts them in the air above his laptop, staring at the subject line.

 

“Bruce said holding your breath was bad for your stress levels,” Tony says as he kisses Steve’s waist, “What’s up?”

 

They’re in bed, Tony sprawled out, naked but for a single sheet barely covering him, and Steve has sweats on, having gotten up to collect his laptop when Jarvis informed them the media dumps were coming in.

 

“Look at the sender,” Steve whispers, pointing at the screen from far away.

 

Tony leans forward, rubbing sleep out of one eye as he peers over, and then his hand drops as his jaw does.  “Dude, open it.”

 

Steve tries to say something, _anything_ , and just ends up looking like a fish, so he presses play and waits.  Mark _fucking Watney_ appears on screen, _waving_.

 

“I’m going to die,” Steve says.

 

“Jeez, I didn’t know you were such a fan.”

 

Steve’s finger slams off the spacebar as he turns to face Tony.  “Are you kidding me?” he says, “I grew up on the Ares Program.  All of them, every single astronaut and cosmonaut that went up there were my heroes, but Ares III—that’s what kept me going.”

 

Tony smiles, kissing the back of his shoulder.  “Let’s go, fan boy, see what the old fart has to say.”

 

“You can’t tell me you don’t—”

 

“I like Vogel better.  We’ll have this argument later.  _Stephen_ ,” he adds when Steve just continues to glare at him.

 

Steve finally presses play again, waiting.  “So hey,” Watney says, “This is totally unsanctioned, and I’m definitely gonna get in trouble for it, but whatever.  NASA left me on Mars, so they can go suck a donkey ball.”

 

Tony starts laughing, dropping onto his back.

 

“I’ve been keeping in touch with your friend, Clint, ever since that wonderful press conference last year.  Nice job on that, by the way.  I went out for dinner with the gang a few weeks after that, and you were all the commander could talk about.  She thinks you’re hot shit.  _Anyway_ , NASA’s got the Europa Expedition under lock and key, and they’ve decided to pussy out and not tell you jack shit.  _Well_ , they did that to me one time, and I almost died, so.  Fuck you, NASA.  Or Mars.  It doesn’t matter anymore.”

 

“I honestly cannot see how he’s one of your heroes,” Tony says, looking up at Steve.

 

“He went to Mars, of course he is, _shut up_ ,” Steve says, not looking away from Watney.

 

“Long story short,” Watney says, “They got Ross, stuck him in jail, and are grilling him big time.  I mean, set him right fuckin’ loose with the general public, and he’s not doing well.  It’s amazing.  They also were not telling anyone about the Weapon X dudes that got sent up there with you, and I took care of that real fast.  They had them believing some fairytale that NASA uncovered some amazing tech Stark had built a million and one years ago, and that’s how they helped you.  Martinez and I may or may not have leaked the real story to the world, and now they’re pissed off at us because we were very not discreet about it, but hey, congrats on being the coolest mission ever!  Or worst, however you want to flip it.”  Watney gives them a thumbs up, and Steve laughs despite himself, shaking his head.  “So my real reason for sending this out is to tell you that Europa Expedition’s Earth-bound team has been put under investigation, and, by proxy, so have you.  They don’t want you to know because politics and PR or what _ever_ , but bullshit.  They didn’t tell my best friends that I was still alive, so here I am, paying it forward, giving you a heads up.  And listen, if the rumors are true, about you and your engineer there, just be honest.  Beck told me some of the shit he and Beth had to go through after, and it’s not cool.  I get why space banging is bad, for several reasons, but still, it’s gonna happen, and I’m happy for you, man, if that is what’s happening, just—don’t hide it.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that NASA’s gonna hide shit from you all the time, but you’re better off in the long run not hiding shit from them.”

 

Steve glances back at Tony, who nods.

 

“Now,” Watney says, “Here’s the fun part.  Peggy was kind enough to help me get this out to you.  Should I hear anything that I think you need to know that they’re not telling you, I’ll send word.  Like I said, they don’t know I’m reaching out yet and hopefully won’t find out.  Oh, before I forget, Weapon X is chill.  I met Thor a few years back, and he’s awesome.  You’re lucky to have him on board.  Signing off.”

 

“Shit,” Steve says when the video ends.

 

“What?”

 

“Johnny’s going on a spacewalk with him tonight to try to suss out if he means us harm.”

 

“Dude, that’s some MI-6 sneaky level shit,” Tony says, sitting up, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Steve says, tossing his laptop toward the bed, “We have to stop him.”

 

“Why?” Tony asks, not following Steve as he crosses the room and quickly starts dressing.

 

Steve shakes his head.  “I think Thor’s been doing the same thing.  He asked Johnny if he could join him.”

 

“And if Johnny tries to play the bad guy,” Tony says, throwing the sheet back, “He might be in trouble.”

 

——

 

_July 2, 2073_

_2200 hours_

 

They’re outside when it happens.

 

Johnny hacks quickly into one of Jarvis’s sublevels, says, “Jay, Tony asked if I’d look at something for him, mind if I step in?”

 

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis says easily, and Johnny grins despite the situation, sweeping a few layers aside before he gets into the alarms and silences them.

 

“We should be all set,” Johnny says after a few minutes.

 

“Didn’t know you were a hacker, too,” Thor says before he reaches for the door to one of the airlocks, slowly opening it.

 

Johnny shrugs one shoulder.  “Not really,” he says, “But Peter was always talking about it and learning new tricks, so I used to do it with him sometimes.  It’s not really difficult if you’re only going in a little.  The shit Tony can do, though.”  He breaks off to whistle, and Thor nods as he gets the door open.

 

When they’re through, Johnny closes the door to hide his shaking hands.  He’s not sure what happens after this, after he finds out if Thor is here to help or not.  Steve had said he would protect him, but they hadn’t exactly discussed what Johnny was supposed to do after they got this far.  And so, that’s how he finds himself suited up, checking and rechecking everything to assuage his nerves.

 

Before he’s ready, they’re outside.

 

It’s still close to midnight before they actually get outside, as Thor is more thorough than Johnny’s ever been, but then they’re there, in the deep dark blue, so inky it almost looks black, and all of it fades away.  He can find Earth and Mars easily, bright spots in the wild expanse stretching out before them.  He takes a moment to look around, feels his stomach drop at the plummeting nothingness beneath him, and then remembers where he is and why, so he carefully reaches behind him, using the cord holding him to Icarus to turn.

 

He can’t find it, can’t do anything but swing through dead air.  Panic starts to swell through him, unrelenting, and Johnny’s breaths stutter out of control as he starts floating, his frantic arms propelling him around.

 

Icarus is farther from him than he knows it should be.

 

“Thor!” he yells because Thor is still there, tethered to Icarus and watching him with a blank expression, “What the fuck!”

 

“Stop it,” Thor says, and Johnny feels a sharp, but subtle tug.  He’s tethered to Thor, though it’s attached to one of his boots, and he knows, with startling, cold clarity, that one wrong word will clear Thor’s conscience, and it’ll be too late before anyone realizes he’s gone.

 

“What are you doing?” Johnny asks, trying to keep his voice level.

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Thor says, “I’ve been hanging with you guys for almost five months now, and your attitude never ceases to amaze me.  It’s incredible that Steve has kept you at fully capacity for this long.”

 

“Steve trusts me,” Johnny says because it can be taken in both contexts, “He knows I’m an asset to this team.”

 

“Are you, though?” Thor asks, “Seems to me you’re just a secondary engineer.”

 

“Sorry we can’t all be superheroes,” Johnny says, “Are we done with this?  Can you pull me back so we can get on with the walk?  There are a few things I’d like to check out.”

 

Thor blinks.  “Holy shit,” he says, “Steve trusts you.”

 

“Yeah,” Johnny says slowly, “That’s why we’re out here.”

 

“Jesus, we’re all so fucking stupid,” Thor mutters, and then he’s slowly pulling Johnny back toward him.  When Johnny’s secured to Icarus again, he says, “I thought you were trying to get me to stage a mutiny.”

 

“Honestly,” Johnny says, “I was trying to see if you were.”

 

“Steve sent you, didn’t he?”

 

“Yeah,” Johnny says, “And you were doing the same thing?”

 

“Shit, man,” Thor says, “I had to be sure you guys were cool.”

 

“Steve was playing spy,” Johnny says, “He thinks he’s a badass or something.”

 

Thor hits him, though it’s with a slow arm drifting through space and Johnny lets it happen.  “He is a badass,” Thor says, “Don’t disrespect your captain.  Now, are we actually out here for a reason?”

 

“I mean, while we’re here,” Johnny says, “There are a few things to check up on.  NASA had us trained extensively on EVAs because we’d be out here for so long and would need to provide status updates on Icarus at all levels.”

 

“Alright, let’s go.”

 

And so, they make their way around Icarus, Johnny grinning whenever Thor gets excited about some aspect of it.  They’re only interrupted once, when Steve bursts through the comms, sounding terrified, and they both are quick to calm him down.  He decides to monitor the spacewalk regardless, though Tony convinces him to move into the flight deck.  It’s to their great surprise, then, after three hours, they return to find Steve out cold in his chair.

 

“Heard you’ve been cleared as awesome,” Tony says by way of greeting when Thor and Johnny come into the flight deck.

 

“I should’ve known, with a Russian onboard, you nerds would stoop to sneaking around.  Is he okay?” he adds, nodding toward Steve.

 

“It’s been a long couple months,” Tony says, “He’ll debrief with you in the morning.  Off you pop.”

 

Tony watches them go, jostling each other as they do, and smiles before returning to Steve, carefully rousing him and coercing him out of the flight deck and to bed.

 

——

 

_July 1, 2073_

_1200 hours_

Johnny munches slowly on his granola while he watches Tony work, his body contorted around one of their secondary engines and the bay open into Daedalus below.  He’s wearing a full bodysuit, the material hugged tight to his body, and Johnny lets himself appreciate the view.

 

“You know,” he says, reaching into his bag for a cluster of banana walnut granola, “if I knew that you were going to make me skip lunch, I would have said no.”

 

“That’s dumb,” Tony says, his right leg stretching farther until he can kick one of the levers down.  The room hums with energy as the secondary engine comes halfway to life.   He untangles a little, drifting over toward one side, and hooking his legs back around some of the equipment while he works with his hands.

 

Johnny is strapped against one of the walls.  The work they’ve been doing requires all functions to cease but the absolutely essential ones, and gravity was the first thing Tony did away with.  “Does Steve really not know what you’re up to?” Johnny asks as he chews.

 

“Can you maybe not speak and eat at the same time?  You sound like you’re gargling marbles.  Do _not_ ,” he adds quickly when Johnny grins, “Your Batman impersonation is horrible.”

 

“Because the stupid marble voice was _horrible_ ,” Johnny says, “I liked Ben Affleck better.”

 

“That’s only because you like Matt Damon.”

 

“They’re a package deal,” Johnny says, “Are you almost finished?”

 

“Hang on.”  Tony keeps typing, and Johnny keeps eating.

 

Three minutes later, one of the engines in Daedalus stutters to life.

 

Tony’s grin is deadly when he turns to Johnny and says, “Ready to play?”

 

——

 

_July 4, 2073_

_1900 hours_

Bucky looks up when there’s a knock on his door.  Though his access has been reinstated for a little over a month now, and he’s even back on light duties, he’s been keeping to himself a lot, only really interacting with Sam and Natasha, both of whom are busy at the moment.  And so, when he gets up, crossing the room, he’s not sure who he’s going to find on the other side of the door, but it isn’t Steve.

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, shrugging one shoulder, “Can we talk?”  Bucky starts to step aside, into his room, but Steve shakes his head quickly.  “Not in there,” he says, “The bridge?”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky says, “Let me grab a sweater.  It’s been cold over there lately.”

 

“Tony’s been trying to simulate space,” Steve says without thinking.

 

To his credit, Bucky doesn’t react to his name, merely turns away and grabs a nearby sweatshirt, standard NASA issue.  Steve leads the way, passing through the corridors in silence, and he tries twice to break the heaviness settling between them, but he can’t find the words to make this better.

 

Only when they’ve reached the bridge, looking out upon the most dangerous nightmare in the world, does he finally say, “I’m sorry, Bucky.  For everything.”

 

“Please don’t be,” Bucky whispers, reaching up to press a hand against the enormous window into the universe’s soul.

 

“Buck—”

 

“Stop,” he says, refusing to close his eyes.  He keeps staring out at it, at the very thing that could swallow him whole.  “Don’t be sorry,” he says softly, “You have nothing to apologize for.  We—we made the decision, Steve.”  He can make out Mars if he tries, and so he searches for Earth.  “We decided it was healthier for us to end things, and it was.  It doesn’t—fuck, it doesn’t matter if I’m still in love with you, we weren’t good for each other after—after everything.”

 

“After the war,” Steve clarifies.

 

“Yes,” Bucky sighs, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he spots Earth, “After the war.”  They stand in a quiet that’s lost some of the ache for a few minutes before Bucky says, “I miss the ocean.”

 

“Relaxation room is open,” Steve says, “I’ll come with you, if you want.”

 

“Please?” Bucky frames it like a question.

 

Steve nods, already stepping away, and Bucky is quick to follow, falling in step with him as Steve asks Jarvis to lower the shields.  They make their way back through Icarus, twisting through her innards until they reach the relaxation room, on the opposite side from the flight deck.

 

The hum of the ship is softer here, and it’s drowned out immediately when Bucky asks for the sea, and the room transforms.  Bucky slowly sits, closing his eyes as the ground shifts beneath him, becoming gravelly first and then dissolving into a fine sand, sifting through his toes as he spreads them before folding his legs beneath them.  A heavy salt air settles around them, and it reminds him of seaweed wrapped with rice.  “I miss sushi,” he says as Steve sits next to him, “You were the worst with chopsticks.”

 

He doesn’t open his eyes, but he can hear the waves now, slowly lapping against an invisible shore, some crashing harder than others.  Jarvis knows him well enough now to filter out the seagulls.  And then, without warning, there’s this burst of warmth like sunlight, and Bucky’s gaze snaps open and up, staring up at a simulation of the sun.

 

“He’s been trying to perfect it,” Steve says carefully.

 

“It’s—beautiful,” Bucky admits, “It feels real.”

 

“It makes me feel less claustrophobic,” Steve says before he shifts and lies back, bringing his arms up to pillow his head as he closes his eyes.

 

“I hear that,” Bucky says, not following him, “I was almost ecstatic about Thor and Quill.  I know that NASA picked a large crew for that reason, to give us enough people to interact with, but there are times when I just hate everyone.”

 

Steve laughs easily.  “Yeah,” he says, “Me too.”

 

“Probably shouldn’t admit that as captain.”

 

“I’m just Steve,” he says, “I’m here the same as the rest of you, excited beyond belief to be traveling through space for six years and going farther than anyone has before.”

 

“What do you think we’ll find?” Bucky asks.

 

“Something,” Steve says, “I have to believe that.”

 

“And if we don’t?”

 

“That’s okay,” he says, “We’ll still have done something amazing.  But—I don’t know, Buck, my gut is telling me that we’re going to find something, even if it’s tiny.”

 

“I just want to look up at night and see that incredible gas giant.  After everything we learned about Jupiter during the Juno mission, I just—those are our secrets, Steve.  That’s where we began.”

 

“Can I tell you something?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“NASA has a series of tests they want us to try when we’ve arrived, obviously, but there’s one that they wouldn’t assign, that we have to volunteer for.”

 

“Is it a human-based test?” Bucky asks, looking over at him, “That sounds a little scifi.”

 

“Water,” Steve says, opening his eyes.

 

“Shut up,” Bucky says, “They want us to try it if we find it?  Really?”

 

“After testing, obviously.”

 

Bucky holds his gaze for a moment before he shakes his head.  “You’re going to volunteer.”  When Steve nods, Bucky reaches over, giving his shoulder a shove.  “You’re such a stubborn asshole.”

 

Steve smiles, turning his head as he closes his eyes again.  “Are you okay?” he asks after a few moments of stillness.

 

Bucky watches the waves rolling all around him and says, “I’m not sure.”

 

“Can I help?”

 

“You are,” Bucky says before lifting his hands into his lap as Steve reaches for him.  He doesn’t have to say anything, but Steve gets the hint, letting the distance grow between them.  It hurts, like a physical blow, but Steve swallows it down and buries it.  Whatever Bucky needs, he’ll be there for him, and if that means mending their friendship by reshaping it as captain and pilot, he can do that.

 

He has to.

 

——

 

_July 17, 2073_

_1400 hours_

_Thor: Yo, check this shit out._

_Video uploaded to group chat._

_Sam: Shut the front fucking door!_

_Peter: are you_

_Peter: playing zero gravity ping pong?_

_Quill: With Steve’s blessing, we all have the afternoon off._

_Steve: Confirmed._

_Wanda: Prepare to be annihilated._

Wanda, Peter, and Johnny are the first to arrive, and Peter looks uncomfortable for about three seconds before he shoves Johnny and goes over to Wanda, stepping into her space without letting either of them panic about it beforehand and hugging her tightly.  “I’m sorry,” he whispers into her shoulder.

 

“It’s okay,” she says, “Can we just—can we still be friends?”

 

“Of course,” Peter says immediately, stepping back, “But still, I’m sorry.  Everything just turned to shit, and we should have handled it better.”

 

Wanda shrugs one shoulder.  “Better start preparing for Pietro’s wrath now.”

 

Peter laughs, a soft, careful thing, and then Johnny comes up behind him, and he waits, unsure.  Wanda nods once, briskly, at him before walking away to join Thor by the ping pong table.  They wait a few more minutes, but when no one else joins them, Thor says, “Okay, this is how zero gravity ping pong works.  Teams of two or more, and it’s basically a free for all.  Ready?”

 

“Heck yeah,” Peter says, grabbing a paddle and going over to join Thor.

 

Quill opens up a program on a tablet and kills the gravity in the room.

 

Ten minutes later, Sam and Bucky float in, Natasha trailing them, and though Johnny shrinks back as she approaches, Natasha ignores him.  They take turns playing and watching, though the room is filled with shouting and laughter before long, those watching cheering on while those playing yell as they spin aimlessly through the air, trying to get their ball.

 

When Tony arrives with Bruce and Betty in tow, they quickly take up sides opposite each other, Natasha joining Tony and Peter joining Bruce.  It’s absolute mayhem with the four of them, particularly because Tony and Bruce are their resident experts on zero gravity movement.

 

Steve shows up after an hour, and they all jostle him and shout obnoxiously until he agrees to play a round.

 

They day carries on, melding into dinner before they all gather in the observation room, drawing straws to see who’s on blanket and pillow duty.  Once they’re all settled, though, Peter points out where Jupiter is, and they spend the evening curled together, quietly drifting through space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, honesty time. I love this fic to pieces. It's easily one of my favorites that I've ever written, and it's been so much fun exploring space and these knuckleheads up there. You're all waiting for the but, I know. If I have to spend one more freaking year on Icarus, I'm going to lose my cool. The Earth chapter in the last fic happened because I was going stir crazy. I was honest to god feeling a little claustrophobic, with only a cast of ten characters and one location. Thor and Quill happened in this fic for the very same reason. I'm currently working on the next Earth chapter for this fic because I just--I cannot. I really cannot, guys. And I am endlessly sorry about that.
> 
> Now, before you all panic, this does not mean this series is ending. This means I'm cutting out year three. I have a plan that I worked out with Erin yesterday that I believe makes sense and would reasonably happen in this situation. Regardless, Erin said this is scifi and I get to "do what I want". So yes, you are losing an entire year of potential stories, but think of it this way--in five chapters, we'll almost be on Europa. How badass is that? It's going to be, I promise.
> 
> For now, I hope you enjoyed, feel free to be upset with me for this decision if you like, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Steve has to agree that dinosaurs in space is a wonderful idea.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: jonathanstorm]_

_[password: matchstick]_

_Message Subject: WIDE LOAD_

Johnny lets out a startled, loud laugh when he sees the subject line, and he’s glad that he’s alone in his room so that no one is there to look over at him strangely.  His smile stays permanently in place when Ben’s suddenly onscreen, dressed in a NASA jumpsuit and waving vigorously.

 

“Hey hothead,” he says cheerily.

 

“Hey baldy,” Johnny echoes, shifting his laptop onto his lap and resting back against the wall.

 

“Heard you been doing some James Bond shit up there,” Ben says, “I always knew that asshole attitude was going to come in handy someday.  You’ll never guess where I am right now.  Okay,” Ben adds, looking down, “The long johns might have given it away.”

 

“Long johns, you nerd,” Johnny giggles.

 

Ben starts walking, taking Johnny with him.  “We’ve been doing a lot of work back home because of you guys.  It’s been crazy the last few months.  After they finished talking their asses off, they finally settled on a reboot of the Ares Program, so we’re finally going back to Mars.  They’ve set up an eight-month stay!”

 

Johnny gapes at the screen, disbelieving.  “No way,” he says, “You aren’t.”

 

“I am,” Ben says, “Flying as first pilot.  Read it and weep.”  Ben flips the camera, showing off an incredible piece of equipment being built.  “Brand new rovers,” Ben says, still walking as he shows off different parts of it, “We’re taking this bad boy up with us.”

 

He flips the camera again, continuing through one of the labs.  “We’ll be leaving a few months before you guys are due back.  Full reboot, too, man.  I’m talking they sent a team up three weeks ago to start working on the Hermes, bring her back up to full speed.  You have done something amazing up there, and you’re not even at Europa yet.  I couldn’t be more proud of you, Johnny.  The public is _demanding_ our full return to space flight, and Jane has been drawing up plans at all hours when she’s not going through applications for commanders.  This is all because of what you’re doing _right now_.”

 

Ben grins widely before he flips the camera again, showing off another lab where various things are being built.  “I hope you’re having fun out there, Johnny,” he says while giving him a panoramic view of the lab, “Stay safe, and rock on.”

 

The video ends, and Johnny nearly throws his laptop onto his bed, vaulting off it as he runs off to go find Peter.

 

——

 

_August 13, 2073_

_0700 hours_

_Quill: We should have a movie night._

_Johnny: FUCKING GRAVITY_

_Betty: It’s early, why are you shouting?_  
  


_Peter: I don’t want to watch it!  It looks scary._

_Johnny: Pete._

_Peter: Foul play._

_Johnny: Petey, come on._

_Johnny: You’re already in space, man.  How much worse can it get?_

_Quill: Petey makes you sound like a pedophile, stop it._

_Quill: Also, no, fuck space movies._

_Quill: Let’s watch Jurassic Park.  All seven of them._

_Betty: There’s only—_

_Betty: SHUT UP_

_Sam: OH MY GOD_

_Sam: DO YOU HAVE THE NEW ONE?_

_Steve: I’m very invested in this answer._

_Quill: HA_

_Quill: Yes, I do.  It came out three days before we left, and I wrote to the studio._

_Steve: Guys, movie night._

_Sam: This is so exciting, I might cry._

_Wanda: But really, can we talk about the elephant in the room for a second?_

_Bruce: What reason could they have possibly come up with to open the park for a seventh time?_

_Quill: That’s what I said!_

_Quill: It makes no sense, man, but I’m gonna keep watching them._

_Tony: Dinosaurs._

_Tony: That’s the reason._

_Bucky: I heard they were making a new one while we were gone._

_Quill: Yeah, but check this gnarly connection out.  When we’re close enough to Earth, the studio’s sending it to me.  HOLLA._

_Thor: I know, guys, I’m sorry we’re the coolest crew members you’ve ever had._

_Betty: I mean, he’s not lying._

_Steve: Duties cease after dinner._

_Tony: OR_

_Johnny: Can we appreciate how awesome it is that Tony’s banging our captain?_

_Tony: Duties cease all day, and movie night is a marathon thing._

_Johnny: Because then we get to cause mayhem?_

_Steve: I resent that._

_Thor: But you’re not saying no._

_Sam: Give it a second._

_Peter: Steve, please!_

_Steve: Primary duties for an hour, and then we’ll meet in the observation room._

_Quill: DINOSAUR PARTY_

——

 

_0730 hours_

Steve smiles when he hears the soft shuffling of Tony’s feet across the floor, and he lets his head drop back, lilting to the side as Tony reaches him, handing over a mug of tea.  Steve takes it, though he remains, looking up at him.  “Hey,” Tony says softly, leaning down to kiss him, “What’s up?”

 

“Just you,” Steve says, letting his eyes close as he reaches up, and Tony huffs a laugh that’s barely there before he’s kissing him again.  Steve lets go of everything around them, focusing instead on Tony’s mouth and the heat trapped there, the way he makes this quiet, humming noise whenever Steve threads his fingers through his hair and pulls him closer.  He does so now, and something shifts in their kiss when Steve’s nails scratch lightly over Tony’s head.

 

When, finally, they pull away, Steve says, “I miss you,” and leans forward to set his tea mug down.  Tony watches him stand, one eyebrow quirked, unblinking, until Steve comes around and takes his hand, tugging him away.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Tony says, following, “I like this plan.”

 

Tony’s hand burns against his, a searing touch that’s igniting Steve’s veins.  Without warning, a laugh erupts down the hall and voices chatter back and forth.  Steve slows, fighting with himself about whether or not they should just turn back when Tony grabs him and shoves him through a door to their left.  It’s a small storage closet, everything secured down, with barely enough room for one person, let alone two, but Tony presses them together, body snug against Steve’s as he pulls him down into a kiss, hot and needy and everything Steve has been trying to push away until he could focus solely on this.

 

“God,” Steve groans into Tony’s mouth.

 

“Didn’t know you thought so highly of me,” Tony mutters, bumping his nose against Steve’s jaw so he’ll tip his head back.

 

“Shut up, you ass,” Steve says, eyes rolling back as Tony starts mouthing down his neck, leaving a wet, lazy trail.

 

“I have an ass,” Tony presses the words into the hollow of his throat before he tugs the collar of his shirt down a little, biting quickly.

 

Steve fists a hand in his hair and pulls, directing Tony’s gaze up to his.  “You leave any marks, and I’ll skin you alive,” Steve threatens.

 

Tony’s eyes go impossibly dark, pupils blowing wide.  “That sounds promising,” he says, and Steve kisses him to muffle his laugh.

 

The voices have long since passed, and so Tony edges the door open, peeking out until he’s sure the coast is clear, and then he winds his fingers with Steve’s, hurrying them along the hallway, banking a right, a quick left, and then they’re into the living quarters, their room the first on the right.  Steve’s barely got the door shut when Tony’s slamming him against it, fingers moving deftly over his pants until he gets them undone and shoves them down, dropping to his knees with them.

 

“Jesus,” Steve exhales, watching him go.

 

“Again, wow,” Tony says, leaning forward to press his cheek against Steve’s thigh, “I’m so honored.”

 

“If you weren’t so— _fuck_.”  Tony uses his wicked mouth in the worst ways, and Steve’s found himself distracted during an argument more than once thinking about what he’s doing right now, tongue curling around him and so _good_ , god _damn_ it.

 

Tony pulls off after a few lazy minutes, leaning back on his heels and looking up at Steve with blue eyes that look black, that mirror the emptiness they’re flying through.

 

They don’t make it to the bed, which is a mere four feet away, but seems like the thousands of miles to the sun to Steve when his knees hit the ground and he tips Tony backward, holding just above him as Tony shucks off his pants, plucks at Steve’s shirt, and then yanks him down.

 

Tony makes an absolutely obscene noise when Steve’s naked body collides with his before he throws a leg up, toppling Steve over so that he can perch above him, teasing with light, slow shifts of his hips.  It takes approximately eight seconds of that before Tony loses his shirt, Steve almost tears his getting it off, and then Tony’s scrambling across the room to find lube and a condom while Steve jerks himself lazily, watching Tony with a hungry gaze.

 

“Stop that,” Tony snaps, swatting at his hand before he’s on top of him again, and he means to get things moving, he really does, but Steve already looks well on his way to blissfully fucked, with his heavy eyes and swollen mouth, and he just wants to _bite him_.

 

He leaves a bruise that will start swelling within the hour along his ribs that Steve positively keens over, body writhing beneath Tony until he’s throwing him off, pinning him to the floor, and tossing one of his legs over his shoulder.  Tony is undoubtedly always loud, and he bites Steve’s hand once, nearly drawing blood, when Steve starts to unravel him.  Steve buries any and every noise in Tony’s neck, breathing in the hot, dizzying scent of him.

 

Later, with sweat-slick backs pressed into the cold floor beneath them, Tony says, “We have—five minutes before we’re due in the observation room.”

 

Steve lets out a surprisingly loud groan, rolling onto his side and pulling Tony over to him, who grins like Steve’s presented him with a riddle, and lets his hand drift down his body, knuckles brushing lightly over him.  “Tony,” Steve sighs.

 

“Don’t you need reports for the day even if they’re only for primary duties?”

 

Steve lets Tony tease for a full minute before he says, “Fuck, _fine_ ,” and reaches for his pants, yanking his phone out and typing in a fast message even as Tony’s fingers wrap around him, stroking in earnest now.

 

_Steve: I know movie day starts in three minutes, but I only have two reports for today._

_Thor: Aw, come on!_

_Bruce: Betty and I submitted ours, so we’ll start setting up the observation room while the rest of you type very fast._

_Wanda: Lame._

“Steve?” Tony says, pushing his shoulder so he rolls onto his back before he climbs on top, fingers wet and shining when he reaches behind him.

 

“Yeah?” Steve asks, looking up at him as he holds his breath.

 

“I’d very much appreciate it,” Tony says, leaning forward even as his breath hitches, “if you’d fuck me.”

 

Steve bites his mouth in response.

 

——

 

_1300 hours_

“You know what would be badass?” Johnny says while Quill’s loading the next movie.

 

“If we could figure out how to time travel?” Sam supplies, and Johnny stares over at him in awe.

 

“Dude,” he says, “Are you secretly a mutant?  Can you read minds?”

 

“For once, I have to admit my hotness is not on a Charles Xavier level.  Man, that accent.”

 

“Oh, I drown in that accent,” Wanda says happily, “Steve!  You should have brought an Irishman onboard!”

 

“That would have been far too distracting,” Tony mumbles.

  
“I agree,” Thor says, “That’s a whole other level of sexy that space isn’t ready for.  Can you imagine what the aliens would do if they heard an Irish accent?”

 

The room goes still but for Quill’s clicking, though he looks over when Natasha says, “Tell me you don’t believe in aliens.”

 

“Of course I do,” Thor says.

 

Tony scoots closer to Steve, tucking up against his side as he whispers, “This is going to be good.”

 

“Aliens,” Natasha says, “Define.”

 

“Sentient forms of life,” Thor says easily, “Like us.”

 

“Other humans?” Peter asks.

 

“No way,” Thor says, “Definitely more advanced.”

 

“Oh god,” Natasha groans, falling into Betty, “He believes in aliens.”

 

“It’s not impossible,” Bruce says, which pulls Nat upright in an instant, glaring venomously over at him.  “You can’t discount it,” he continues, “It’s improbable, but certainly not impossible.”

 

“I think,” Quill says, drawing everyone’s attention, “We should watch movie number three and discuss aliens later.”

 

“Seconded,” Steve says, and it’s settled.

 

They’re about twenty minutes into the movie when Tony shifts, rearranging his pillows so that he can lie back.  A few others start to do the same until he asks, “Anyone else want it on the ceiling?”

 

“Yes,” several voices chorus, and so he gets up to bicker with Jarvis until the projection is shifting to be above them.

 

When Tony comes back, Steve is already on his back, and he starts to lay a few paces away from him when Steve reaches for him, drawing him close.  “Are you sure?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at him.

 

Steve leans forward, kissing his jaw, and says, “Absolutely.”  He holds Tony close, and though, really, he wants nothing more than to get lost in his warmth, kissing him slowly, he settles for the nearness of him, the way their breaths slowly start to shift into a similar rhythm, Tony’s heart thudding out a quiet, physical breath against Steve’s skin.

 

Near the end of the movie, Steve stretches, looking around to find everyone in states of half-asleep, and so, when the credits roll, he says, “Alright, get up.  Hour break, go do something productive.”

 

“Aw, Steve,” Peter whines from somewhere, though Steve spots his leg hooked around one of Johnny’s.

 

“Come on,” Steve says, forcing Tony to get up, “Check on your stations, hit the gym, do something that gets you focused.  Can’t have everyone napping in the middle of the day, NASA will have our heads.”

 

“This is true,” Sam says around a yawn before he sits up, stretching.  Bucky hits the floor when Sam moves, and he groans, rubbing at his shoulder.

 

“Ass,” he mutters before pushing upright.

 

“Come spar with me,” Sam says, knocking his knuckles against Bucky’s jaw before he jumps to his feet, twisting to either side.

 

Bucky watches Steve leave, fingers wound tightly with Tony’s, and nods quickly.  “Okay,” he says, leading the way.  He doesn’t look back when they exit the observation room, not wanting to see them.

 

“Hey,” Sam says as he jogs to catch up to him, “Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he starts to lie, and then shakes his head, exhaling loudly.  “Halfway,” he says, “Just—trying to focus on other things.”

 

“Then?”

 

“Come on, man,” Bucky says, and Sam replies by leaning into him.  “Steve,” Bucky says finally, “It doesn’t—I dunno, it doesn’t hurt as much, I guess, to see him going off somewhere with Tony, but it still sucks.”

 

“Why does it suck, because it’s Steve or because it’s Tony?” Sam asks.

 

Bucky shrugs one shoulder.  “I think more because it’s Tony.”

 

Sam nods.  “That’s fair.”  He pushes open the door to the gym.  “Maybe you just need to get laid.”

 

Bucky exhales a broken laugh.  “Yeah,” he says, “Okay.  I’ll get to that in a few years.”

 

“You’ve got—options here,” Sam says unsurely.

 

“Really?  Do tell.”

 

“Okay, fair question.  Do you swing both ways?”

 

“Not really,” Bucky admits, “I dated a few girls when I was younger, before I enlisted, but after that, once you’re in training and potentially being deployed, it makes no sense to keep lying.”

 

They start wrapping their hands as Sam asks, “Was Steve your first?”

 

Bucky smiles, and it isn’t sad, which prompts Sam to echo the expression.  “No,” he says, “Not by a long shot.”

 

“Good,” Sam says before delivering a soft, glancing blow against his upper arm, “Then you can shake it off no problem.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky says, following him into the center of the room.

 

They dance this way, their tactics different but skills evenly matched, and so it’s several hard, grunting minutes before Bucky lands a hit, making contact with Sam’s ribs.  Then, it’s an all-out brawl.  Sam comes at him with wicked swings and the occasional kick, so Bucky lets himself get light on his feet, darting in and out, landing three more hits before Sam knocks one of his feet out from under him and sends Bucky sprawling.

 

He’s halfway up when Sam bruises his shoulder with a nasty blow, laughs when Bucky careens backward, yelping.  He pins him with a knee against his shoulder and grins at him.  “That was rude,” Bucky says, so Sam lifts off of him, holding out a hand.

 

Bucky lets himself be hauled upright, and swings before Sam can throw up an arm in defense.  They continue, moving easily around each other, and it’s fluid enough that when Sam traps Bucky with a twisted arm, Bucky drops to a knee and throws Sam from him, rolling to land on top of him even as Sam throws up an arm and knocks one of Bucky’s hands out, collapsing him to a forearm.

 

Sam’s pulse trips out of time as Bucky crashes against him, and Bucky looks up, sees more there than he can identify.  Bucky knows, suddenly, the taste of Sam’s mint tea when Sam reaches up, closing the gap between them, and kisses him.

 

Bucky jerks back quickly, scrambling away and tripping over his own legs so that he ends up on his ass, looking over at Sam in a mixture of surprise and disbelief, something like want coursing beneath it all.  “What—” Bucky says, but breaks off.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Sam says quickly, pushing himself upright, “I should have— _never_.  I’m so sorry, Bucky.  Please don’t—shit, don’t be mad.”

 

“I’m—what— _okay_.”

 

Bucky sifts past the disbelief, knows that this makes sense, that they’re always in such close company and of course one of them would develop feelings for the other.  He takes a moment to look at the surprise, purely because he’s uncertain how he didn’t see this coming.  But then, all that’s left is this dark, churning pit in his stomach that he hasn’t recognized in _years_.

 

“Okay,” Bucky says slowly, closing his eyes, “That’s—I’m not mad.”

 

“Okay,” Sam says, watching him, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop— _stop_.”  Bucky opens his eyes before pushing to his feet, and Sam doesn’t follow, too afraid to move and scare him away.  Bucky sees exactly what he’s doing, and sighs, coming over to extend a hand.  Sam takes it slowly, letting Bucky pull him to his feet.  Sam steps back, so Bucky steps forward, keeping the distance between them almost nonexistent.

 

“Sam,” Bucky says, waiting for Sam to meet his gaze before he continues, “That’s—I’m—it’s— _Jesus_.”

 

“Restart,” Sam says softly.

 

“Slowly,” Bucky says, “I need to move slowly.”

 

“What?”  Sam looks utterly bewildered, and Bucky’s having an inane amount of trouble with his words, so he lifts a hand to curl around Sam’s jaw and doesn’t give him time to respond before he kisses him, a light press of their mouths that doesn’t spark anything more than a budding curiosity.  “Oh,” Sam says when he releases him, “Okay.  Are there, like—ground rules?”

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, “Just—slowly.”

 

“Yeah, absolutely.  I, uh—I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop it,” Bucky says, not bothering to hide his smile, “I’m glad you did.”

 

“I’m still gonna kick your ass, though,” Sam says, stepping back and lifting his arms.

 

“In your dreams,” Bucky says, a laugh waiting to burst out, and then Sam tries to land a blow, Bucky knocks his arm out of the air, and lets it out, making a face when Sam smiles fondly at him.

 

——

 

_1530 hours_

 

“I’m nervous,” Tony admits from the confines of Steve’s arms.  They’re on the bridge, the shields lifted, Steve’s back pressed against the opposite wall while Tony lays between his legs, letting the steady rhythm of Steve’s heart lull him into something resembling calmness.

 

“For Europa?”

 

“For Earth,” Tony says, wrapping his arms around Steve’s to cage himself in tighter.  Steve doesn’t respond, simply presses his cheek against Tony’s temple, and the shift in his breathing is answer enough—he has the same fears.

 

“I’ll be nearly half dead when we return.”

 

“What do you consider half dead?” Steve asks, pressing his smile into Tony’s skin.

 

“Fifty,” Tony grumbles.

 

“You won’t be almost fifty,” Steve sighs, lifting his head to turn and kiss Tony’s jaw, “You’ll be barely forty-six.”

 

“Nearly half dead,” Tony repeats, “I’m basically cradle robbing.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says fondly.

 

“I know,” Tony groans, “It’s the worst.”  That startles a laugh out of Steve that Tony huddles closer to feel vibrate through his body.

 

“Yo lovebirds,” Quill comes over the comms, “Which, okay, that’s directed to basically the entire ship.  Where my homies at?  There are _dinosaurs_ to flail about!”

 

“I don’t hate him,” Tony says as he pushes away from Steve, “Nor Thor.”

 

“They’re—tolerable,” Steve decides on, rolling his eyes.

 

“You think Quill’s annoying, just come out with it.”

 

“It’s not very political for me to admit that,” Steve says, smiling when Tony pokes him in the chest.

 

“When have you ever been known to be politically correct?” he says, “You basically told NASA to fuck off for the rest of our mission, and _damn it_ , that’s sexy.”

 

“I don’t think I ever—”

 

“Shut up,” Tony says, and kisses him.

 

——

 

_August 14, 2073_

_2000 hours_

Johnny outright _groans_ when Tony flicks his ear.  “Do I have to?” he mumbles, turning over onto his side and peeling open one eye to glare at Tony, who just stares back at him.  He groans again, louder this time, so Tony sighs when Peter stirs, shifting when Johnny gets out of bed.  “Go back to sleep,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Peter’s temple, “I’m just running to the bathroom really quick.”

 

“Okay,” Peter sighs without opening his eyes, and Tony stands aside, arms folded across his chest while he waits.  Johnny gets dressed slowly, still trying to wake up, until Tony opens the door, and then he zips his suit up quickly, follows him out, and promptly stops.

 

“Uh,” he says.

 

“Good morning,” Bruce says, handing him a sealed coffee cup.

 

“I’ll ask questions later,” Johnny decides as he takes the cup and sips at it, making soft, grumbling noises as he does.

 

Tony leads the way, talking quickly with Bruce until they reach the engine room, and, once they’re inside, he starts shutting down systems, waiting to kill the gravity until Johnny’s tied himself down against the wall.

 

“Okay,” Johnny says an hour later when he’s in Daedalus and Bruce is arguing with Tony about some complex algorithm that Johnny’s not even going to pretend to understand.  Both stop and look down at his voice, though, and so Johnny continues, “Why did we involve Bruce?”

 

“He was the first one to help me with this idea, way back when,” Tony says before reaching into the secondary engine and tugging forward a handful of wires.  “Pick a color,” he says to Bruce before adding to Johnny, “He knows as much about this project as I do.”

 

“Green,” Bruce says easily, already reaching forward to take it from Tony, unwinding it from the others.

 

“I was starting to get stuck, and Bruce is good at yelling at me until I’m unstuck,” Tony says.

 

“That makes no sense,” Johnny mutters, low enough that they don’t hear him.

 

They keep working, keep tinkering, until Jarvis lets them know it’s nearing their usual wakeup, and so they make their way back to their rooms to pretend they were there all night long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, what is Tony up to, the little sneak? I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as it was so much fun for me to write. Erin always describes them as a pack of puppies, always snuggling. Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back home, on Earth, Clint is just trying to survive.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: wandamaximoff]_

_[password: witchygrooves]_

_Message Subject: WANDA_

Wanda is a little concerned when she sees the subject line, and so she waits impatiently while the video loads, tapping out a rhythm on her thigh as she does.  She’s underneath one of the tables in the greenroom because she’s having an avoiding people day, and so far, it’s working.

 

When the video finally loads, she laughs loudly at the way Pietro’s eyes are bugged out, his face particularly close to the screen.  “I did something,” he whispers.

 

Wanda stifles her laugh, turning up the volume even though she has headphones in.  “A stupid something,” Pietro continues, and then leans back, linking his arms behind his head.  He drops them almost immediately, tapping at the arms of his chairs.  “ _Wanda_.”

 

“Out with it,” Wanda murmurs.

 

“ _Wanda_ ,” he hisses, leaning forward again, “You might have a small child to call your niece or nephew when you get back.”

 

“Pietro!” she shrieks, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth.

 

“I know, I know,” he says, leaning back into his chair and scrubbing his hands over his face, “This is an absolutely horrible way to find out, and I’m so _mad_ at myself for not telling you sooner.  I wasn’t sure this was a thing, though, and we’ve only been dating for a couple of months, and this wasn’t planned _at all_ , but then she told me that she was going to the doctor’s next week, and I’m just freaking out, okay.  She’s really nice, you’ll love her, but holy shit, I wish you were here.  I don’t want to do this without you.  We were supposed to have a joint wedding and have kids at the same time and just—do all of our adventures together, and now I might be a _father_.  Oh god.”

 

Wanda just blinks at the screen, unable to come up with any possible reaction until Pietro lets her know which way he’s leaning.

 

“Holy shit,” he says, dropping his elbows down onto the desk and his face into his hands.  His next words come out muffled, but they release a wild eruption of joy throughout her, “I want to cry, I’m so happy.”

 

“Pietro,” she says softly, squeezing her hands into fists.

 

“I hope it’s a girl,” he says suddenly, lifting his head to look at her, “I really do.  I hope she’s pregnant.  I hope this is a real thing.  Oh my god, you have to help with baby names, I’m going to go crazy.  And I think I’m going to have her come on one of these videos so you can meet her.  I wish you were here.  I wish you were right here holding my hand.  God, I would bring you into the freaking room with us to find out.  _Wanda_.  Please come home soon.”

 

He tells her that he’ll keep her updated and that he misses her, but Wanda barely hears it with her face buried into her legs, trying to stay quiet so no one comes looking for her as she cries.

 

——

 

_September 15, 2073_

_0800 hours_

His days are different without Nat.

 

Clint hates to admit it, but life has taken on a less vibrant hue, and though he’ll never tell her while she’s away, he’s spent days entirely in bed, wondering what the point is.  It’s not that he doesn’t have a life without her, but rather that he’s spent so much time realigning the axis of his world to coincide with hers that now, he feels off balance.

 

Which is why, probably, he has an 80lb weight on top of him right now and a wet nose occasionally bumping at his jaw to wake him up.

 

“Okay,” he groans, rolling over onto his back, “Fine.”

 

Something _barks_ at him.  It reminds him that, eventually, he needs to tell Nat he replaced her with a dog—named _Pierre_ , no less.

 

“She’s going to murder me,” he tells Pierre, “Like, in the biblical sense.”

 

Pierre eyes him sternly, so Clint finally gets up, rummaging around until he can find clothes and a pair of shoes.  After he’s been walked and fed, Clint hops in the shower, dresses for the day, and heads out into the backyard to see if anything in the garden will stir an idea for breakfast.  He picks a few fresh tomatoes, checks the potatoes, and goes back inside to make eggs and bacon, occasionally handing Pierre some.

 

Around nine, he gets a text from Riley, _it’s hot out, wanna bring that big dopey dog of yours to the beach?_

_He is not dopey, stop calling him that.  You’re hurting his feelings._

He can practically hear Riley’s laugh, though he’s kinder in text, _suuuuure.  Is that a yes?_

Clint eyes Pierre, who cocks his head.  “Want to go teach those seagulls a lesson?”

 

Pierre practically beams at him, so Clint calls him a dope and is off to pack a few things for the beach.  He calls Pietro on the way, who is far too energetic at this time of the morning, and even gives Rebecca a ring, but the kids are back in school, so she’s taking them somewhere fun for the weekend.

 

Pierre is beside himself when they pull up to Riley’s apartment, which really just serves to remind Clint of Sam, and then he’s sulking by the time Riley opens the passenger side door and makes the most obnoxious noises at Pierre that he can manage.

 

“Stop it,” Riley says, punching his shoulder, “I thought that was what the dog was for.”

 

“He’s not _the dog_ ,” Clint says.

 

“Right,” Riley says, inhaling and squaring his shoulders, “He’s a Weimaraner, a respectable bird hunting dog.  He’s also a fucking giant.”  Clint looks back at Pierre, who leans forward and nudges at him, so Clint puts the car in drive and makes for the beach.  “How are you doing, man?” Riley asks after a few minutes of fiddling with the radio and settling on a classic rock station, “Is he helping?”

 

“Yeah,” Clint admits, sighing, “A lot.  I still haven’t told Nat about him, though.”

 

Riley shrugs.  “You’ve got four and a half years, you’ve got time.”  Clint frowns.  “Man, that was supposed to be a joke, I’m _sorry_ ,” Riley groans, letting his head thud back against the seat, “I know it sucks.”

 

Clint nods.  They’ve had this discussion before, and last time it ended in an argument, so he’d rather not do a replay.  “How’s Redwing?” he asks instead.

 

“Pissed off that you got a bird hunting dog.  He loves the beach.”

 

“Does Sam know you take him to the beach?”

 

“Fuck no, he’d kill me.  But Redwing and I have a very firm understanding.  If he fucks off, well—then he can fuck off, I’m not going after him.”

 

“Right,” Clint says, smirking, “Says the man who called me in a blind panic at three in the morning because he flew out the window.”

 

“Falcons, man,” Riley says, “They’re impossible.”

 

“They’re stubborn.  Speaking of, Pietro said he finally told Wanda, and she absolutely flipped out.”

 

“Wait!” Riley exclaims, smacking him, “Is it official?  He’s really having a baby?”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t tell you?  He tried to propose, too, and she told him they’d have a trial period of being parents before jumping into married life.  I love her already.”

 

“Is she native to Romania?”

 

“I think so.  He’s here on a business trip to talk to Reed.  Did you hear they made him the official Ares Program public relations liaison?  He just about fell over when he was telling me.”

 

“I thought they offered that to you,” Riley says, brows furrowed.

 

“And I turned them down,” Clint says, shrugging one shoulder, “Nat, uh—” Clint breaks off, pointedly not meeting Riley’s gaze.

 

“Come out with it,” Riley prods, “Nat what?”

 

Clint glances at him, and then turns onto the causeway which will take them to the beach.  “She’s retiring,” he says, “She’ll be thirty-five when she gets back, which is early, but she said she doesn’t want to do this anymore, be away for this amount of time.  She’s arranging a meeting with Reed to discuss possible positions after, but she—well, she mentioned maybe adopting.”

 

“Shut the front door,” Riley says, turning in his seat so he can face Clint, “Seriously?”

 

“I don’t know if it will actually happen,” Clint says, “Or if maybe it’s just Wanda talking nonstop about Pietro’s baby, but it’s there, it’s a possibility, so we’ll see what’s what when she gets back.  Jesus, four and a half years.  This is going to be torture.”

 

“Maybe you should get a pack of dogs.”

 

Clint laughs.

 

——

 

_1400 hours_

After Clint drops Riley off at his apartment, he heads off in the direction of NASA headquarters.  Pietro got caught up with something and couldn’t join them for the morning beach and lunch, but he’d asked Clint to meet him at HQ to talk.  He recalls, in vivid detail, the last time he was called in to talk and found out that Icarus was approaching a massive space storm.

 

Pierre senses his unease and leans against him, head resting on his shoulder, and it immediately clears the dark cloud that seems to be forming above him every day now.  “I know,” he says, reaching up a hand to scratch under Pierre’s jaw, “I know they know better than to hide something like that from us, and from them, again, but I can’t stop wondering when the next shoe is going to drop.  They’ve made it through everything space has thrown at them, and I just—what if someone dies next time?  What if it’s Nat?”

 

Pierre lets out a soft, mournful sound, and Clint leans his head against his, driving the last mile to HQ like that until he’s showing his ID and being let in.  Pietro is waiting just outside the front door for him, and it does nothing to ease his worry.

 

“Hey,” Clint says as he approaches, releasing Pierre so he can run up and greet Pietro, “Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Pietro says, looking at him strangely, and then, “Oh my god, yes, I’m sorry, I should have told you this was nothing.  Nothing’s blown up, they’re all okay as far as we know.”

 

“As far as we know?” Clint echoes.

 

“Not like that,” Pietro says quickly, turning away, “We’ve been getting regular updates, but Reed wanted to talk to you and Sue finally got the motion passed.”

 

“No,” Clint says, grabbing Pietro’s elbow and pulling him to a halt.  Pierre sits next to him, looking up.  “When?”

 

“Last night,” Pietro says, smiling, “You’ve been reinstated.”

 

“Thank god,” Clint mutters, releasing him and carrying on, “I’ve been going stir crazy.”

 

“Pierre agrees,” Pietro says when Pierre knocks into Clint’s leg, causing him to sigh.

 

“Yes, I know, he’s very adamant on reminding me that I’m not alone,” Clint says, reaching down to scratch the top of his head.

 

“You should get him a vest.”

 

“He’s not an assistance dog.”

 

“If that’s what you want to believe, I’m right there with you, Barton.”

 

“Shut up.”  Pietro just beams at him.  “Provided, of course,” Pietro continues, “that you don’t pull anymore stunts.  Those are Jane’s words, not mine,” he adds when Clint starts to argue, “I was told to parrot them back at you, and don’t worry, she’ll be telling you, too.  If Reed had it his way, he’d already have handed over the mission to you.”

 

“He can’t have given up that much on them,” Clint says.

 

“Not them,” Pietro says, “Himself.  Sue said he’s up late every night checking in on them, whether it’s the status of Icarus or rereading Steve’s reports.  He wants to make sure he hasn’t missed anything again.  Okay,” he pauses just outside a conference room door, “Promise not to yell?”

 

“That’s what Pierre is here for.”  Pietro lifts an eyebrow.  “Can it, Maximoff.”

 

Pietro just grins and opens the door, leading him in.  Jane, Sue, and Reed are already seated, and he starts to sit at the other end of the table when Pietro carefully steers him closer.  He sits across from Reed, who won’t meet his gaze.

 

“Jane,” Clint greets, offering her a small, tight smile, “I trust you’re well.”

 

“Sleeping better now that we’re in the final year,” she says.

 

“Or the third of six,” Clint says before turning to face the others, “Sue.”

 

“Please tell me this is the Pierre we’ve heard so much about.”  At his name, Pierre’s ears perk up, and Clint nods, smiling when Pierre leaves his side to go say hello to Sue.  “And his name?” Sue asks, turning in her seat.

 

“Nat will likely commit a crime when she finds out, but Pierre is Natasha Rostova’s husband.”

 

“From _War and Peace_?” Reed asks without thinking.

 

“Exactly,” Clint says, finally looking to him, and, this time, Reed doesn’t look away.  He lets silence build between them, tension slowly rising until Pietro starts to fidget, and then he says, “Reed.”

 

“Clint.”

 

“Honestly,” Clint says, relaxing a little, “I don’t envy your position right now.”

 

Reed visibly deflates, exhaling loudly.  “I’m glad to hear that,” he says, “Shall we proceed?”

 

“Mister Barton,” Jane says quickly, “Your access has been reinstated, and your duties shall resume as a trainer.  We have a large influx of astronauts coming onboard soon as we prepare to relaunch the Ares Program, and we would like to offer you a lead position on one of the modules.  It—”

 

“I accept,” he cuts her off, “Can we skip the bullshit and get to why we’re here?”

 

“While your outburst concerning the storm was unacceptable, we still hold a great amount of respect and trust toward you, and we hope that we can continue to work together unhindered,” Jane says.

 

“As long as you don’t try to kill my wife again, I’ll behave,” he says, smiling.

 

Jane’s jaw tightens and she stands, collecting her things.  “Do try not to remind me of Mister Stark in the future,” she says as her closing statement before she’s gone.

 

Clint exhales a laugh, watching her go.  “I would be so lucky,” he says before turning to Sue and Reed, “What’s up?”

 

“There’s been some interesting—activity,” Reed says, “Nothing to be concerned about just yet, but the readings coming off of Icarus are a little strange.”

 

“What kind of strange, Reed?” Clint demands.

 

“I think a visual might be better.”

 

He pulls up a feed on his tablet, hands it over, and watches Clint’s expression slowly change as he starts to understand.  When the pieces slot together, his gaze snaps up, and he looks first at Pietro, who shakes his head, frowning, and then to Reed, who nods once.  “What the hell is he doing?” he asks, and it’s in a voice tainted not with fear, but with something bordering on awe.

 

——

 

_1800 hours_

Rhodey is aware that several pairs of eyes are watching him, waiting for his confirmation, but he can’t quite stop looking at these numbers.  Even after Tony had put himself as far from Bruce as he could get, he had still worked relentlessly on this.  He remembers seeing these formulas and calculations sprawled all across his lab, remembers the first time he asked and the absolute fear that had sparked in Tony’s eyes.  And now—now, all he can think is, “What an asshole.”

 

“That’s basically what I said,” Clint says, “I guarantee Steve doesn’t know he’s doing this, either, because that whole crew is a warning sign for bad behavior.  Nat included,” he adds when Reed glances at him, “I know far better than the rest of you how awful she can be, which is why I fucking married her, so stop looking at me like it’s my fault you sent a Russian spy, a bored genius, a rebellious hothead, and two war veterans into space.  _Together_.  This is not my fucking fault.”  


“Nor mine,” Rhodey reminds, still not looking up.

 

“Okay,” Sue sighs, “Can we focus on the task at hand?”

 

“Oh, is that me?” Rhodey asks, finally meeting their curious gazes, “I mean—it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” Clint says at the same time Pietro says, “No.”

 

“Start reading something boring during your free time,” Clint advises.

 

Pietro opens his mouth to respond, Sue lifts a hand to silence the oncoming argument, and Rhodey says, “He found the missing piece.”  Rhodey taps at a small string of letters and numbers on his tablet, zooming in on it as their tablets mirror his movements.  “This is what he was always looking for,” Rhodey says, watching them try to comprehend it, “It’s something he was trying variations of before he got selected for the Europa Expedition, and he was close, but—well, now he’s arrived at it, and I bet you anything it’s because he’s not doing it alone.”

 

“Who the hell else is involved?” Clint asks incredulously.

 

“Johnny,” Reed says, “Tony hand-picked him as their secondary engineer.”

 

“And Bruce,” Rhodey says, “Maybe not right away, but definitely now.”

 

“What does this mean?” Sue asks, “What is their projected arrival date, if this works?”

 

Rhodey looks back down at his tablet, smiling.  The absolute _nerve_ of him.  He can’t wait until Tony’s returned so he can hug him and let him know what a brilliant idiot he is.  “If this works,” Rhodey says, biting back his smile, “they’ll be at Europa just after the new year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT. I hope you guys like what's coming next because I am super excited about it, and even more freaking out about the fact that we're so close to Europa, ah!
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future of the space program might actually rest in Tony's hands, and Steve's feeling a little vulnerable about that.

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: icarus]_

_[password: europa]_

_Message Subject: For captain and first pilot only._

Steve sighs when he sees the subject line.  He’s exhausted with this game NASA is trying to play, with the secrecy they continue to shroud this mission in, and thus, that’s why he finds himself waiting in the operations console for everything to arrive.

 

They trickle in slowly, taking seats around the meeting table while Steve stands at the helm, watching.  Peter and Wanda arrive first, sharing a handful of green beans and tomatoes, which they quickly offer to Steve.  Nat is next, a book tucked under her arm, and Betty is not long behind her, still working on her tablet as she takes a seat.  Sam and Bucky come together, hands wrapped and dressed in workout clothes, and Steve immediately notices the shrinking distance between them when they sit.  Thor arrives with Quill on his heels, ignoring an argument that Quill is desperately trying to start and punching him in the shoulder when they sit and he keeps talking.  Though Bruce walks in next, Tony and Johnny are a few paces behind him, and it confirms Steve’s suspicion that whatever this urgent message from NASA is has to do with whatever they’ve been up to.

 

“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Steve says.

 

“Captain calls, we come,” Johnny says, and then quickly apologizes when he sees Steve’s expression.

 

“I received a media file from Reed that was addressed to only myself and Bucky, but as the past has taught us, anything kept secret has not boded well for this crew, and thus I would like us all to see it together.”

 

He doesn’t miss the look Tony casts Bruce.

 

“However,” Steve continues, “Before we begin, I would like to offer a safe space for anyone to come forward if there’s something they have not been honest about.”

 

Johnny looks at the table, and Tony holds Steve’s gaze.

 

Steve forces himself to not clench his jaw, to keep his expression neutral, and he thinks it works because Bruce looks nervous when he glances at him before turning to play the video.

 

“Steve,” Reed greets, “Bucky.  This message is coming in the hopes that you are already aware of what we’ve just pieced together.”  Steve closes his eyes.  He doesn’t want this to happen again, not now, not when he finally feels like they’re bordering on okay.  “I am joined by Clint, Pietro, Sue, and James, who is with us remotely and who has been a great help on deciphering the report we received from Icarus this morning.”

 

“Steve,” Tony says.

 

“You had a chance to come forward.  You chose not to,” Steve says, not turning around.

 

“The calculations that we received were unlike anything we have ever seen,” Reed says, “Though James was able to unravel it for us.”

 

“The projected arrival at Europa if these calculations are correct and are applied without error is approximately three and a half months,” Rhodey says.

 

The rest of the video falls on deaf ears.  All Steve can hear is static as he opens his eyes and turns, staring at Tony in disbelief.  “Start explaining,” he says.

 

“Remember when Thor got here, and I was excited about his engines?” Tony says, “They were everything Bruce and I had spent our lives working on, but we could never quite figure out how to make them bigger, enough so that they would be useful on a ship of Icarus’s magnitude.  NASA closed the program, but we kept working until Ross got wind of it, and he shut everything down.  He threatened—”

 

“I know,” Steve interrupts him, “What are you doing _right now_?”

 

“We figured out how to channel the power from the smaller engines through Icarus’s and use it as a—a—live wire, if you will.”

 

“How did you figure this out?”

 

Tony swallows.  He knows, undeniably, this is the sentence that damns him.  “We’ve been working directly with our secondary engine and both of Daedalus’s.”

 

“You—” Steve breaks off, turning away.

 

“Are you saying that we could cut off an _entire year_ of space travel?” Natasha asks, staring unblinkingly at Tony, “How is that even possible?”

 

“By approaching warp speed,” Johnny says quietly, “We’re basically flying the USS Enterprise.”

 

“This is—that’s— _how_?” Peter stammers.

 

“I told you,” Tony says, “They were tested, over and over, and they never failed, but the problem was size.”

 

“But a live wire connection between Icarus’s engines and Daedalus’s only remaining engine?” Steve asks, “That’s just a guessing game, right?”

 

“Technically, Daedalus has three engines,” Thor points out.

 

“He’s correct,” Tony says, “There’s a tertiary one used only in emergencies.  And really, the boost we got from the second one barely scratched the surface.  There’s an entire 80% of power leftover, and that doesn’t even factor in our secondary and tertiary engines.  Combine the four of them, and it’s possible.”

 

“You could have killed us!” Steve finally erupts, arms snapping out to his sides.

 

“Steve, I—”

 

“Don’t tell me you were being careful,” Steve snaps, letting every ounce of his fury and fear pour into his words, “You were sneaking off in the middle of the night and god knows when else to work on this.  You were sleep-deprived and trying to be quiet about this whole affair.  You could have seriously injured yourselves.  And if that wasn’t enough, you were fucking around with our _engines_ , Tony!  What if something went wrong, and you completely mangled one of them?  What if one of them reacted badly to your fucking tinkering, and exploded?  Did it ever occur to you, for one second, that you were endangering eleven other lives?"

 

"Steve—”

 

“You are not the _sun_ , Tony.”  Steve’s hands curl into fists, his nails biting into his palms.  Tony flinches back at his choice of words.  “The universe doesn’t revolve around you.  You need to think and—fucking _ask_ before you embark on a potential suicide mission.  This is not your ship, and you risked everyone’s lives on a _gamble_.”

 

“Fuck you,” Tony snarls, throwing his chair back as he stands up and starts to stalk away.

 

“You were bored,” Steve says, stopping him, “That’s why you did this.  You can say that you were curious if you could get it to work, but the reason you did it without talking to me was because you were bored and wanted a challenge.  What was even the point?  We would have arrived in a year without issue.”

 

Tony barks out a short, angry laugh before he turns.  “Can you honestly tell me that you would have survived another year on this ship without falling apart?  Any of you?” he addresses the rest of them, looking around, “They can test us all they want, run us through every different obstacle, but it comes down to this: we all wanted to be up here, so we did everything in our power to succeed.  Now, we’re here, for six and a half _years_ , and it fucking _sucks_.  I’m _sorry_ if I was trying to avoid a major malfunction.”

 

“Don’t pretend this was philanthropic,” Steve says, shaking his head, “You were never doing this for anyone but your own ego.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky says, standing, “I think we need a timeout.”  Steve turns to him, and Bucky holds up his hands, fingers spread wide.  “Steve,” he says slowly, “Take a walk.”  To everyone’s surprise, Steve listens, and Bucky waits until he’s gone before he continues, “Tony, can you rein it in?”

 

Tony’s shoulders tighten, but Bruce speaks before he can, “I can stand in for him.  Go away.”  Tony’s body doesn’t relax, but he still turns and leaves.

 

“Alright,” Bucky says, sitting again, “Let’s talk about this.”

 

——

 

_October 13, 2073_

_9000 hours_

“This would be a lot easier with Tony,” Johnny says when he sees the expression on Steve’s face as he tries to understand the complex mechanics in front of him.  A muscle in Steve’s jaw twitches, and Johnny quickly adds, “Or not, considering you clearly want to rip him in half.”

 

“He could probably still function with only half of— _him_ ,” Steve mutters vaguely.

 

“That would require some serious AI nonsense,” Johnny says, “Which, knowing him, he’s probably been working on.”

 

Steve looks over at him, and it’s a moment before he asks, “Jarvis as a human?”

 

“Basically,” Johnny says, “Alright.  What do you have questions on?”

 

“All of it,” Steve admits, dropping the report onto the operations console and leaning back.  “It’s—I absolutely tanked my engineering classes.”

 

“And here I thought it usually went hand-in-hand with piloting.”

 

“It does,” Steve says, “I just couldn’t get it.  I still can’t, obviously.”

 

“To be fair,” Johnny says, taking the report, “A lot of this is way over my head, too.  Those two crazies are off floating in some higher realm than the rest of us peasants, and I’m not even saying this to make you feel better,” he adds at Steve’s expression, “Truly, Cap.  Every Star Trek joke is really just me trying to decipher this bullshit.”

 

“How about layman’s terms?” Steve asks.

 

“You were religious once, weren’t you?” Bruce’s voice drifts over to them.

 

“Once?” Steve asks as Bruce sits on his other side, sipping at a mug of tea.  Steve is reminded of his lack of tea and Tony’s glaring absence, and he frowns at his hands.

 

“Past lives and all that,” Bruce says, waving a hand about vaguely, “Betty’s got me reading this ridiculous book right now.”

 

“Dude,” Johnny says, “The Mitchell one?  That shit fucked me up.”

 

“Is there a secret book club going on that I don’t know about?” Steve asks.

 

“It was the year three plan,” Bruce says, “Betty and I were going to subtly start getting everyone to read the same books we were until it was just a thing that was happening.”

 

“It’s working,” Johnny says, “I had Wanda send me your digital copy of _Horns_.  _Crazy_ shit right there, man.”

 

“Oh,” Bruce sighs, “I remember that book.”

 

“Yes, I was probably religious once,” Steve says, “And likely still am, but that’s another story for another decade.  Can you help with this gibberish?”

 

Bruce sips his tea again, folds his legs beneath him, and looks out at space.  It takes a long minute before he says, “Frankenstein.”  He narrows his eyes at Johnny when he opens his mouth in confusion, and so Johnny waits, looking instead to Steve, who has a very clear moment of understanding.

 

“Okay,” he says, “Okay.  Is there any way to test it beforehand?”

 

“No.”

 

“What’s the margin for error?”

 

“Massive.”

 

“What are the consequences?”

 

Bruce sighs, shifting again and lifting his mug.  He doesn’t drink, though, instead lowers it and says, “There are three major ones—one, we blow our engines, and then good luck getting home; two, we actually blow our engines, and we all die; three, we overshoot and end up on Jupiter, so also dead.”

 

“Basically, all options lead to death,” Johnny says.

 

“What’s the point if we can successfully make it to Europa in another year unaided?”

 

“There isn’t,” Bruce says, “But it cuts a year off of our journey.”

 

“It’s purely superficial.”

 

“We would be the fastest spaceship in the history of time,” Johnny muses.

 

“Okay, we’re not Mark Watney,” Steve says, “Using the word fast doesn’t make it better.”

 

“I mean—kind of.”  Johnny shrugs when Steve looks over at him.

 

“And, if you want a scientific reason, we’d be able to test the effects of accelerated space travel on the human body,” Bruce says.

 

Steve is quiet while he thinks, and the other two let him sit.  Johnny starts working on a report that he’ll eventually send Steve’s way, and Bruce finishes his tea.  “I have to talk to Tony, don’t I?” Steve says.

 

“It’s only been a month,” Johnny mutters.

 

“Don’t sound so sour,” Bruce says cheerfully, getting up and smiling at him, “He’s just as prickly as always.”

 

Steve exhales loudly.

 

——

 

_1000 hours_

 

Tony’s watching Rhodey’s latest video when Jarvis lets him know that Steve is approaching.  It’s been more difficult than he expected, this hole that’s been widening between them.  In the morning, Steve is gone before he wakes, and while he tried to still bring him tea the first few mornings, it quickly became apparent that Steve wanted nothing to do with him.  He continued to interact with Bruce and, to Tony’s absolute _ire_ , with Johnny, almost to a point of friendliness that he hadn’t exhibited before.  Tony’s tried to convince himself that Steve has been warmer toward Johnny since the Thor incident, but the side of his brain that fuels his fury keeps telling him it’s because Steve would rather give his respect to someone like Johnny than ever talk to him again.

 

“Stop it,” he mutters, pausing Rhodey’s video and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.  He hasn’t been sleeping well, either.  He’s watched Steve leave early in the morning a few times, climbing down from the top bunk to dress silently and exit without a single glance Tony’s way, and he’s running on about six hours of sleep in the last four days right now.

 

“Can I come in?” Steve’s voice asks from the doorway.

 

Tony lowers his hands to find that he’s standing on the threshold, but hasn’t come in any further.  “Are we speaking?” Tony asks.

 

“That depends,” Steve says.

 

“On me?” Tony guesses.  When Steve’s only reaction is to lift his eyebrows, Tony says, “Well, then the answer remains the same.  Fuck you.”  Steve bristles, but Tony tosses his tablet aside and straightens.  “No,” he says, “You don’t have the right to be pissed off at me because _I am_.  You’re just as fucking miserable to get along with as I am half the time, and that’s most of the reason I didn’t come to you.  The other half is that I wasn’t sure it was going to work, and I didn’t want to bother getting your hopes up if I failed.  _Again_.  I have been failing at this project for my entire life, Steve, and I didn’t want to let another person depend on me for it.  So, if you’re angry, tell me it’s because you’re concerned about the safety of this team due to my irresponsible actions, don’t just imply that you’re angry because of _me_.”

 

Steve finds he has no response, and so instead he leans against the doorway, frowning.  “I don’t know what to say to you,” he finally says.

 

“Why are you here?” Tony asks.

 

“We need to talk about this maneuver.”

 

“Here’s what I propose, then,” Tony says, “That’s what we do, nothing else.  We’ll address this elephant later.”

 

Steve nods after a moment, stepping in and closing the door behind him.  “Can you walk me through it?” he asks.

 

Tony grabs his tablet, pulling up a few screens.  Steve comes to sit next to him, and though he knows he shouldn’t, he lets himself sit close, and he has to close his eyes for a moment.  He’s missed this warmth that Tony always creates, and he’s speaking before he realizes it, “I don’t know why I said that.”

 

“It was rude,” Tony agrees.

 

“It was true, though,” Steve says, and Tony looks over at him sharply, “You’re not _the_ sun, just—just mine.”

 

Tony bites his lip, and Steve allows a small, hopeful smile.  “You’re an asshole,” Tony says, but his tone betrays his relief as he turns back to his screens and starts explaining, “We’re almost at the perfect window.  All of my calculations bring us to an arrival date of January 7th if we launch by the end of the week.  I know that’s incredibly soon, but we’re at a good trajectory with Europa right now, and we’d be coming at her at an almost direct angle.  We would pretty much bypass Jupiter’s gravitational pull at the speed we would be going at, and we wouldn’t have to worry about drifting too close if we left then.”

 

He flicks away one of the screens and zooms in on another.  “How it works is that we use our secondary and tertiary engine power combined with the remaining power on Daedalus.  We would be saving what’s left of our primary engine for the return journey, and really, we would probably only be tapping about halfway into the tertiary one.  It’s not as big as the others, but our secondary is a mean little beast, and she’ll handle most of the charge.  Your live wire analogy, though exposing how dangerous this potentially is, was also pretty accurate.  Basically, we hypercharge our engines to do what Daedalus wants, and with the right control, Icarus will listen.”

 

“What about us?” Steve asks, “How do we factor in?”

 

“I’m glad you asked,” Tony says, moving to a different screen again, “When we were working on the engines, we had to cut all unnecessary functions in that room to be able to use as much power as we needed.  To maintain speed and correct flight patterns, the same would have to be true.  Overall, we would lose gravity.  The other functionalities depend on where you are at any given moment.  The botany lab would retain almost everything, but all shields would be dropped, so the observation room and flight deck would become nonessential.  EVAs are an absolute no-go.  You’d just spin right off and die, and very likely kill everyone else in the process.  Heating and cooling to some areas would be lowered, as would power.  The gym would also become nonessential.  I’ve figured in our bodies,” he says at Steve’s frown, “There are two reasons no exercise would be okay.  One, we would only be in zero gravity for two months after two years of doing everything we’re supposed to, and Bruce is confident that our bodies could handle it.  Two, I am highly suspicious that a lot of active movement might do more harm than good while traveling at that speed.  We’re talking about compressing twelve months of space travel into two.  I think it’s fair to assume that limited movement is better.”

 

“Not entirely stationary, though, right?” Steve asks.

 

“No,” Tony says, “We can still walk around and do some light duties, but I foresee a lot of movie marathons and free time.”  He waits for a response, and when he doesn’t get one, Tony says, “It’s a calculated risk.”

 

“Tell me why this is a good idea,” Steve says softly.

 

Tony holds his breath for a moment before putting his tablet aside and reaching for Steve’s hand, winding their fingers together.  “For Clint, for Pietro’s baby, and for the future of the Ares Program.”

 

Steve exhales.  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

 

“Traveling to Mars will be like traveling to the moon.  We might just be about to make Mars a common destination.  Imagine the possibility that holds for places like—hell, _Pluto_.  For—I don’t even want to say it.”

 

“Kepler?” Steve guesses, finally meeting his gaze.

 

“If this works,” Tony trails off.

 

“I know,” Steve says, “I get it.”

 

“I know you do.  That’s why you’re having a hard time seeing all the sides,” Tony says, “I want you to know that I’ll still love you even if you say no.”

 

Steve blinks at him.

 

“What?” he says, his voice cracking.

 

“Oh,” Tony says, his eyes going wide, “I forgot to tell you.”

 

“That you love me?” Steve says, squeezing Tony’s hand.

 

Tony doesn’t bother biting back his smile this time.  “You were too busy being mad at me.”

 

“Shut up, you— _asshole_ ,” Steve says even as he reaches for him, pulling Tony close and kissing him, letting all of it just dissolve.  When they pull apart, Steve says, “We’ll bring it to the table.  One veto, and we have another year ahead of us.”

 

“Right,” Tony says, and Steve smiles when he sees fear flash briefly through Tony’s eyes, “Of course.”

 

“You are so brilliant,” Steve says fondly, and Tony looks a little bemused at the compliment, so Steve continues, “It’s incredible how thick you can be sometimes.”

 

“This whole insulting thing is really turning me off,” Tony says, “I prefer it when you call me God.”

 

“I love you, Tony,” Steve says, and Tony tries to respond, ends up stammering something unintelligible, and kisses Steve to hide his reddening ears, who laughs against his mouth and pulls Tony into an embrace instead, letting his joy press into his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we just talk about how we only have two chapters left? GUYS. I'm freaking out a little. I haven't written them yet, but I can finally get back to this now that that crazy 00q is finished. However, I can promise that they're going to be wild, and then, and then, AND THEN, WE'RE AT EUROPA, OH MAN. I'm having a space-related dance party at my desk right now, WATCH OUT.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	12. Chapter 12

_Data processing, please standby._

_Media dump downloaded._

_[username: natasharomanoff]_

_[password: kissmyassnasa]_

_Message Subject: I got a dog._

Nat closes her eyes.

 

She’s really trying to pretend that she misread the subject line of Clint’s latest video, but, when she opens her eyes, it’s still there, staring her in the face.  And, when the video loads, it’s right there to prove her wrong, a big, dopey looking dog.  “So this is Pierre,” Clint’s voice says from somewhere behind the small horse.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nat groans, letting her head thud back against the wall.

 

“I know,” Clint says, “He’s—Jesus, Pierre, get down.”  Clint heaves Pierre out of the frame, leans forward on his elbows, and is nearly knocked over as Pierre forces his head in between Clint’s arms, settling on the desk beneath Clint’s chin.  Clint sighs loudly.  “He’s one of those emotional aid dogs,” Clint says, “Which I’m refusing to admit to Riley because he’s an asshole, but that’s beside the point.  I can’t—I can’t believe this is it.  This is the last I’ll be able to see of you before you shoot off into the unknown.  I hope it works, Nat, and I know it will because it’s Tony, and he’s a genius or something, but I just—come home to me, okay?  I need you to survive this.”

 

Nat smiles, fingers skimming the edge of her tablet as though she could reach through and curl a hand around his jaw, hold him there and let him know that everything is going to be okay, that of course she’s coming home to him, _of course_ —it doesn’t work.

 

It’s out there, sitting in the deep dark that they’re about to try a fucking _experiment_ on, and though Bruce has been giving her exercises and helping her with redirecting dark thoughts—darker than space, darker than her nightmares—she can’t stop hearing this impending doom thrumming its way through her veins.

 

“Anyway,” Clint says, and Nat snaps back, looking to him, “Pierre’s growling, which usually means he needs a walk.  Want to come?”

 

“Yes, god yes,” Natasha says.  It’s been so long since she felt dirt beneath her toes, and though it’s not enough, seeing Earth through a screen, it helps.

 

——

 

_October 19 th, 2073_

_0700 hours_

“Ten crew members safely secured in the operations console,” Steve’s voice reports through the comms, “Is everything a go?”

 

“Launching secondary engines in 90 seconds,” Tony says before turning to Johnny, “All systems are go?”

 

“Everything looks good,” Johnny says, gaze flickering over his tablet, “No hiccups anywhere.  We’re performing at full capacity.”

 

“Run through it again, then,” Tony says even as he pulls himself through the air toward one of the main consoles.

 

“Launch secondary engines,” Johnny says, “Observe to be sure they’re functioning correctly.  After twenty minutes of successful power, launch tertiary engines, and repeat.  Drop into Daedalus, and monitor from below while you monitor from above.  Approximately one hour of increased speed before we begin to approach warp speed.”

 

“You forgot the most important part,” Tony says while he types, attention fixed on the screen in front of him.

 

“Obviously, I’m going to remember to strap in.  I’d very much not like to die in one of the coolest experiments ever done in space.”

 

“Don’t use that word.”  


“Experiment?”

 

“It sounds so unsafe,” Tony admits before he starts shutting down the gravity in the rest of the ship.  “Gravity decreasing,” Tony says over the comms, “Everyone strapped in?”

 

“Affirmative,” Bucky says, “Icarus holding course.”

 

Tony nods in Johnny’s direction, who pushes away from the wall and heads for another console.  A full minute later, he says, “Standby, secondary engines running for twenty minutes.”

 

They wait.

 

Tony and Johnny have plenty to do that their twenty minutes goes by before they’re ready, though Steve is left with an impatient crew around him.  “When are we scheduled to arrive?” Wanda asks for what feels like the fourteenth time this morning.

 

“Early January,” Sam says, “As long as everything happens correctly.”

 

“Launching tertiary engines in 90 seconds,” Tony interrupts them.

 

“Are we positive he knows what he’s doing?” Quill asks.

 

“That is definitely a question that should have been asked last week, not right now,” Peter says, “Are you actually doubting him?”

 

“Not him, just the world,” Quill says.

 

They fall into an uncomfortable silence, and Steve closes his eyes, trying to find the sun.  “Entering 60 minutes of increased speed,” Tony says, and Steve smiles.  Even on the other side of the ship, potentially risking his life, Steve is warmed to the core by Tony’s voice.

 

The minutes pass by slowly, and he wonders what it must look like in the engine room now, the pair of them racing past one another to triple check everything.  He starts humming _Here Comes the Sun_ without realizing it, and Betty almost immediately joins in, her voice drifting quietly through the words.

 

“Primary and secondary engineer strapped in.  Remotely initiating near warp speed,” Tony says.

 

And so it begins.

 

——

 

_November 3, 2073_

_1300 hours_

When Peter finds Wanda, she’s up on one of the rafters, tethered to the ceiling, and typing quickly on her tablet.  He kicks off of the wall to propel himself toward her, and she reaches out a hand as he soars by, grabbing his arm and spinning him in the right direction.

 

“Thanks,” he says as he climbs up to join her, strapping in, “What are you doing?”

 

“Taking notes,” she says, her tone hinting at the answer being overly obvious, “Everyone’s starting to react to the increased speed finally, so I want to keep a detailed journal of their happenings.  We’ll only be getting a couple months of near warp speed, which won’t show much, but it’ll go a long way toward helping future astronauts learn how to grow with a changed environment.”

 

“I find it interesting that we’re back to anti-gravity,” Peter says, leaning back against the rafter and stretching his legs out until he can tuck his toes beneath Wanda’s folded legs.

 

“Why’s that?” she asks.

 

“Well,” Peter says, shrugging, “We’ve worked so hard and so long to obtain gravity in all aspects of Icarus for long-distance interplanetary space travel, and yet, it was the first thing to go when we changed our speed and engine power.”

 

Wanda mimics his shrug.  “I’m sure, given enough time, Tony will be able to figure out how to shift the power into one spaceship so that he can maintain the other functionalities of the ship.  Plus, we’re traveling without a lot right now.  A few months without stable heating and cooling is okay, but imagine several.  This kind of technology won’t be in use until they can decipher how to keep the ship fully operational while in near warp speed.”

 

“Technically—”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“—Thor and Quill did it.”

 

“They were in a much smaller ship,” Wanda points out, “And there was only two of them.”

 

“Okay,” Peter says, spreading his hands, “Less people does not equate less power.”

 

“Agreed,” Wanda says, “Less space also does not equate less engine power, but still.  Thor and Quill embarked on a dangerous journey, and thus drastic measures were taken.  On a normal mission to Mars—”

 

“Wait,” Peter says, and Wanda grins, “Can we talk about how cool that sentence was?  A _normal_ mission to _Mars_.  I can’t wait.”

 

“Will you go back up?” Wanda asks.

 

“Oh, totally,” Peter says, “If they’ll have me, of course.  I’d _kill_ to go to Mars.”

 

“Jupiter’s not good enough, really?”

 

“I love Jupiter, I do, and I’m out of this world excited to land on fucking _Europa_ , but Mars is—” Peter pauses, shaking his head as his gaze drifts up toward the ceiling.  He doesn’t know how to put it into words.  Mars is hope to him.  It’s fierce, unruly, unreliable, angry, and beautiful.  It’s where, he thinks, so many of their questions will be answered, and it’s the whole reason he started working harder in school in the first place.

 

“Yeah, I get it,” Wanda says, “I only hope I can come with you.”

 

“Badass,” Peter says, “Imagine it, Wanda and Peter conquer Mars.”

 

“Oh,” Wanda says, frowning.

 

“Yes,” Peter agrees, “Conquer is the wrong word.  He’s too incredible for that.”

 

“I’m glad you didn’t just say she.”

 

“Mars is obviously a male,” Peter says, “Being a male deity and all.”

 

“But,” Wanda says, “And hear me out on this.  Gender of the deity does not always transfer to gender of the planet.  Which is ludicrous, also, because planets are balls of fucking gas and rock and _terror_.”

 

“Is this that Ganesha as a woman thing you were talking about forever ago?”

 

“I identify Ganesha as a female entity, yes.  But, more along the lines of everyone calls home Mother Earth, and yet, I see our planet as a male.”

 

“Definitely!  He’s a total dude.”

 

“Sun and moon?” Wanda asks.

 

“That’s tricky,” Peter says, “I flip flop on the sun, but I’m usually woman for the moon.”

 

“You are the first man I have ever met to agree that the moon is a woman.  Everyone’s all, nope, the man on the moon.  Bullshit.”

 

“Yeah, the man _on_ the moon.  That doesn’t mean the moon _is_ a man.  What about you for the sun?”

 

“Woman,” Wanda says, “Absolutely.”

 

“Eternal power and beauty?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Okay,” Peter says, wiggling until he’s comfortable.  Wanda closes out her program, leans back against her rafter, and smiles at him.  “Venus, woman; Mercury, man.”

 

“Agreed.  Jupiter, man; Saturn, woman.”

 

“Also agreed.  Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto?”

 

Wanda makes a discontented noise.

 

“Again, tricky,” Peter says, “I’m usually all male, but Neptune occasionally strikes me as female.”

 

“Interesting,” Wanda says, nodding, “Kepler.”

 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Peter groans, “I have no idea.  I want to say both.”

 

“Really?” she says excitedly, “Oh, do tell.”

 

“It really boils down to the two suns for me.  Kepler feels weird when I think about it.”

 

“I can get groovy with that,” Wanda says, and Peter laughs.  “I’m glad we’re doing this again,” she says, “I missed you.”  When Peter looks a little alarmed, she adds, “Being friends, you idiot.  I understand that you’re in a relationship with Johnny.”

 

“I’m sorry how that all happened,” Peter says, “I never meant to hurt you.”

 

“You didn’t,” she says, “He did.  And whatever, I have to be on this boat with him, I’ll be civil, but he said some nasty shit to me, and I’m not letting that go.”

 

“As you rightfully shouldn’t,” Peter says, “I just hope—I’m just sorry, and I hope you don’t think I’m awful for staying with him.”

 

“You’re not,” Wanda says, leaning forward to curl a hand around one of his ankles, “You’re just a dumb boy in love.”

 

“I know,” Peter whines, shoulders slumping forward, “It’s the worst.”

 

Wanda just grins and leans back before she says, “I’m actually really excited that we’re cutting a year off of our trip.  I want to be able to spend as much time with my little baby niece as I can.  She’s going to be so old already when we get back!”

 

“So are we,” Peter says, “I don’t think I really realized how much time was going to pass.  It seems crazy that I’ll be almost thirty before I see my parents again.”

 

“Six and a half years,” Wanda sighs, “You try to prepare for it, you know?  You think about how old you’ll be, how old your family will be, try to prepare for what might happen in the future, even dream about how far the technology will come, just like they used to do when making futuristic scifi movies, like we still do, and yet—here we are, and it feels bizarre.  It feels unreal.”

 

“Like time isn’t actually passing?” Peter guesses.

 

“Yes!  Like Icarus is a blip in the time continuum.  Like we’re actually on the TARDIS.”

 

“I’m trying to convince Tony to work on time travel.”

 

“I’m sure he’s tried already.”

 

“He’s barely played with it,” Peter scoffs, “He could do so much more, and he’s holding back.”

 

“I hate to break it to you, but I really don’t think time travel is possible.”

 

“Not _yet_ ,” Peter says, and Wanda just laughs at him.

 

——

 

_November 18, 2073_

_1600 hours_

“ _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_ ,” Sam says.

 

“Overrated,” Bucky says, ducking as Sam throws a wild fist, straightening with a grin, “It’s good, but it’s just not my cup of tea.”

 

“I can see that,” Sam says, “Too fucked up in the head.”

 

“Shut up, asshole,” Bucky says, landing a blow on his shoulder that sends Sam sprawling, trying to keep his footing, “That one with the piano man.”

 

“ _Pianist_?”

 

“Yes, him, but his other movie.  The one in the straight jacket.”

 

“ _The Jacket_?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Awesome,” Sam says, “It has Keira Knightley in it, which instantly makes it better than all other movies.”

 

“I did not peg you for a Keira Knightley fan,” Bucky admits, taking a dangerous step back and nearly tipping himself over.

 

“She’s right up there with Sandra Bullock.”

 

“But,” Bucky says, “Kate Beckinsale.”

 

“Sheee- _it_ ,” Sam sighs, lowering his arms, “She’s my favorite white lady.”

 

Bucky laughs and says, “Your turn.”

 

“Right,” Sam says before he lunges forward.  He knocks both of them over, and their weighted legs crash wildly through the anti-gravity air until Bucky hooks a leg over him and hauls them down toward the ground, breathless as he laughs into Sam’s shoulder, who hums and winds his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his ear.

 

“Gross,” Bucky says, twisting away from him and slowly getting up again.

 

“Speaking of Adrien Brody, _by the way_ , _The Village_ ,” Sam says, holding up a hand.

 

Bucky rights him, widens his stance, and says, “Cop-out ending.”

 

“No!” Sam yells, landing a kick because Bucky isn’t expecting it, and he sighs at him, pulling him straight when Sam starts to spin away.  “Best ending ever,” Sam says, “It’s totally not a cop-out.  It’s fucking epic.  The ending of _Sunshine_ , for instance.”

 

“Was cool,” Bucky agrees, “Because it was a horror movie all along.  _The Village_ was a horror movie that took a cheap shortcut to explain away the idiocy of it all.”

 

“Rude,” Sam accuses, “Your turn.”

 

“ _The Strangers_.”

 

“I fucking love that movie!” Sam shouts, and Bucky laughs, tripping him.  “Oi!  Jerkface!”

 

“I’m all done,” Bucky says, “I’m starving.”

 

“True that,” Sam says, “Help me out of these fucking pants.  It’s creepy because you’re never expecting it.”

 

“And it has Liv Tyler in it.”

 

“Fuck that, I’m here for Scott Speedman.”

 

“I prefer him as a vampire.”

 

“Vampire _werewolf_ ,” Sam corrects, trying to struggle out of his weights.

 

“Vampire Lycan, actually,” Bucky says, “Your turn.”

 

“Since we’re on a horror vein, _The Crazies_.”

 

“Underrated,” Bucky says, “The crazies are fucking scary.”

 

“They are, though, aren’t they?” Sam agrees, “They—shit.”  Bucky laughs rather than help him as he kicks against the ground on accident, finally dislodging the last of his weights and sending himself soaring up into the air.  “Slow or fast zombies?” he asks.

 

“Both,” Bucky says, “Slow ones are cool because point a, _The Walking Dead_.  It’s about the humans rather than the zombies, which makes it awful and a little more terrifying.  Fast ones are cool because point b, _World War Z_ is a badass movie.”

 

“Can we be angry about _I Am Legend_ for a second?”

 

“Always,” Bucky says, carrying their weights over to their proper holding place.  When he stows them away, he pushes off the ground to get to the ceiling, pulling himself along.  “Moving away from horror movies.  _Harry Potter_.”

 

“Don’t do it to me!” Sam wails, letting go of the ceiling to clutch his heart, “Every movie is golden, and every book is the best thing that’s ever happened, and I just have a lot of feelings about it, okay!”

 

“You’re a loser.”

 

“You’re dating this loser.”

 

“I know,” Bucky groans.

 

Sam kicks him, and they continue on.  “ _Lord of the Rings_.  Specifically, _Two Towers_.”

 

“Because it’s the best one?” Bucky guesses, smiling when Sam nods enthusiastically, “Obviously.  The battle at Helm’s Deep immediately makes it cooler than the rest of them.”

 

“And the Ents,” Sam reminds him, “ _The Hobbit_?”

 

“Subpar,” Bucky says, “They added too much, didn’t keep the good stuff, could have definitely only done one or two, probably two, the music wasn’t nearly as good, the special effects were only awesome on Smaug, and I’m not a huge fan of Martin Freeman.”

 

“You hated BBC’s _Sherlock_ , didn’t you?”

 

“ _Elementary_ was so much better.”

 

“I’m glad we can see eye to eye on this.  Yo, Thor, my main squeeze, what’s up!” Sam exclaims as they float into the kitchen.

 

“My chocolate sugarplum!” Thor says, spreading his arms wide.

 

Sam pulls himself down onto the table, strapping in before he snuggles close to Thor, beaming.  “I love this man, Bucky,” he says from the tight confines of Thor’s embrace.

 

“I know you do,” Bucky says, letting himself smile fully as he collects their dinner.

 

“What are we playing today?” Thor asks.

 

“Love or hate movies,” Sam says, “Your turn.”

 

“The last _Star Trek_.”

 

“The fucking best,” Sam and Bucky both agree.

 

“Cinematography was gorgeous,” Bucky continues, “And I’m forever in love with the new cast, though I do miss those terribly delightful interviews with Pine and Quinto when they would drop words like fucking _irascible_.”

 

“You weren’t even alive for that,” Sam accuses, “Stop pretending you’re some hipster queen.”

 

“ _Room_ ,” Bucky says in response.

 

Thor’s face falls, and Sam laughs loudly at him.  “Yeah, me too, big guy,” he says, leaning into him, “That was a hard movie to watch.”

 

“Harder to read,” Thor says, “Speaking of that beautiful inspiration of a woman, _United States of Tara_.”

 

“Yes!” Bucky exclaims, dropping into the seat opposite them and strapping in before he hands Sam his dinner, “That show was incredible.  It’s, hands down, one of my favorite television series ever.”

 

“More than _Merlin_?” Sam asks.

 

“Oh,” Bucky says, “That’s unfair.”

 

“Is that the one with the attractive Arthur and the young Merlin?” Thor asks.

 

“I hope you’re not implying Colin Morgan is unattractive,” Bucky says.

 

“Dude, _The Fall_.  Tom Anderson.  Holy _shit_.  That accent alone could undress me.”

 

“Wait,” Sam says, turning to him, “Let’s hash this out.”

 

“I do what I want,” Thor says, “Gender’s just a word, man.  Sexual fluidity.”

 

“I _love_ him,” Sam says to Bucky.

 

“It’s hard not to,” Bucky agrees.

 

“Let’s marathon _Orange is the New Black_ ,” Thor says.

 

“Oh my god!”

 

——

 

_November 29, 2073_

_0800 hours_

“There’s no internal bleeding as far as I can tell,” Bruce says, frowning when Quill makes a noise as he applies pressure to his ribs, “Though there’s certainly swelling.  And you said you weren’t fighting when this happened?”

 

“Woke up like this,” Quill says, folding a little when Bruce steps back.

 

“Straight,” Bruce says, and Quill mutters, sitting up again.  “It’ll help,” he says, walking around behind him, “Correct posture is the first way to ease your pain.  If you’re slumping over, you’re compressing the swelling, making it harder for it to go away.  No bruising, which is good,” he adds before stepping in to press his stethoscope against his back, “Deep breaths, please.”

 

He listens to Quill breathe, feels along the back of his ribs, and then comes back around the front.  “I’m recommending rest, and not just in your bunk.  An hour or two in the relaxation room per day, as well.”

 

“Aw, doc,” Quill starts to complain.

 

“Your bunk has potential interruptions,” Bruce says, “The relaxation room is locked upon entry.  You need continuous rest, not just fifteen minutes every once in a while.  I also want you back here every morning for reevaluation.”

 

“No meds?” Quill asks.

 

“Your body is already reacting poorly to our new environment, so all I’m administering is Advil.”

 

“Lame,” Quill says, “But here’s my question.  Why didn’t this happen on Daedalus?”

 

“You were constantly active, which you probably shouldn’t have been,” Bruce says, “Tony was right that we need to take it easy while we’re moving at this speed.  Our bodies aren’t used to this.  Were you sore ever while on Icarus?”

 

“Yeah,” Quill admits.

 

“Exactly.  Your body was probably recuperating from your time on Daedalus, and now you’re going through the same thing again, but at a heightened level, and it’s probably just saying fuck you to you.”

 

“Well, that’s rude.”

 

“Agreed,” Bruce says, “Repeat it back.  Where are you going?”

 

“Do you really not trust me that much, doc?” Quill says before he jumps off the table.

 

“Well, case and point,” Bruce says when Quill groans, hands lifting to his sides.

 

“I’m going to find a window because I’m curious about our position, and then I’m heading to my bunk, where I’m going to take a nap.  The first half is nonnegotiable,” he adds when Bruce opens his mouth.

 

“I’ll let Steve know that you’re off duties,” Bruce says instead.

 

Quill struggles back into his shirt, takes a pill from Bruce, and ambles off, holding onto the door as it opens back into the anti-gravity.  He floats through the hallways, pulling himself along slowly, until he finally arrives at one of the small, circular windows, and he spends about three minutes watching space rocket by, stars winking out of existence as they crash through time, and then, his grin is so wide it hurts.

 

He digs out his phone, hooking an arm through one of the handholds while he types.

 

_Quill: Jupiter is in sight!_

He can practically feel Peter’s excitement, and he imagines him crashing into things as he hastens to a window before the response finally comes in.

 

_Peter: THIS IS AMAZING_

_Peter: IT’S SO BIG_

_Johnny: That’s what she said._

_Peter: YOU’RE BANNED_

_Sam: FROM LIFE_

_Sam: GUYS_

_Quill: Shit, look at that beauty, too!_

_Steve: It’s Europa.  It’s right there._

_Betty: My face hurts from smiling.  Guys, we did it.  We’re doing it.  We’re so cool!_

_Natasha: I say we throw an almost there party._

_Johnny: TV binge watch of The 100?_

_Sam: You’re unbanned._

_Peter: Delay the start for a few hours.  I just want to look at it._

_Peter: I think I’m in love._

_Wanda: With a planet.  That’s worrying._

_Peter: You’re in love with plants._

_Wanda: This is true._

_Bruce: OR_

_Tony: I love you, Bruce._

_Bruce: Book club meeting before The 100._

_Johnny: YES_

_Johnny: OKAY, THAT FUCKING BOOK_

_Betty: I AGREE_

_Betty: LET’S TALK ABOUT IT_

_Steve: Approved.  Book club meeting, lunch, and then binge watching._

_Tony: You’re my favorite Captain._

_Steve: You say that to all the girls._

_Thor: SHOTS FIRED_

_Quill: STEVE’S GETTING SNARKY_

_Natasha: STEPHEN ROGERS, LEVELING UP_

_Steve: Gotta catch ‘em all._

_Peter: I’M ON THE FLOOR, BYE_

Quill laughs, pocketing his phone before releasing the handhold and floating back toward his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS. ONE MORE CHAPTER.
> 
> Structure note time. The final installment in this series will only be five chapters long. Maintaining the same structure the rest of the series has had, the first four chapters will detail their four months on Europa. Don't worry, there's going to be a ton packed into each chapter. The fifth chapter is a surprise. I am hopefully going to start writing it today and finish it within the week, so it's all very exciting.
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The combined crews of Icarus and Daedalus finally arrive at their destination--Europa, Jupiter's ice moon.

_December 5, 2073_

_2200 hours_

“Did you read the report from yesterday’s two month debrief?” Wanda asks.

 

“It was rather short,” Thor says.

 

“I was busy,” Natasha says.

 

“We’re on target,” Thor summarizes for her, “Wanda, have you cut your hair since you left Earth?”

 

“No, why?” Wanda says, trying to look back at him and stopping when Thor pulls at her ongoing braid.

 

“You’ve got serious dead ends.”

 

“At least an inch or more,” Nat adds, “Better topic.  Are we really not mad at Johnny?”

 

“I didn’t say _I_ wasn’t mad,” Wanda says, “Let’s clarify that pronoun, Nat, because I’m not going to keep listening to you bitch on about him.  I just said that I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.  Peter and I are in a good place as friends, and I’d really like to stay there.  And thus, the topic is closed.  Let’s not talk about Johnny anymore.”

 

“Mister hot pants,” Thor corrects.

 

“He’s an asshole,” Natasha spits.

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Wanda groans, “Will you give it a rest?”

 

“He said—”

 

“I’m aware of what he said, Nat!  I was there!  I was on the receiving end!  I’m begging you, _please_ , drop it.  I don’t want to deal with all of this shit while we’re on Europa.  I want to be able to focus on the science, on the fact that we’ve traveled farther than anyone in the universe, that we’re—”

 

“Anyone?” Thor echoes, “In the _universe_?”

 

“We’re not doing the aliens theory,” Natasha says quickly.

 

“Why?  Because it makes sense, and you can’t accept that?” Thor says, tying off one side of Wanda’s hair before he starts on the other, “You can’t tell me that you actually believe that _we_ are the most superior minds out there.  _Humans_.  We’re awful.  We are basically the four horsemen without the cool factor.”

 

“And you think aliens wouldn’t have civil war?” Natasha challenges, “You don’t think they’d have a civilization with issues?”  


“So you have considered it!”

 

“Betty likes to play devil’s advocate to aggravate everyone in the universe—yes, the entire universe—so I’ve had several conversations along this vein.  I have not considered it, but I’ve heard all of the counter arguments.”

 

“You have as much proof that they’re not out there as I do that they are.  In fact, I may have more proof fairly soon.”

 

“Europa will not confirm alien lifeforms,” Natasha says.

 

“And if it does?” Wanda asks.

 

“Then I’m taking off my mask and floating into Jupiter.”

 

“That seems a bit extreme,” Thor says, “I’d reconsider.”

 

“You’re impossible,” Natasha sighs before getting up, “Wanda, I’m off for tea.  Do you want anything?”

 

“No thanks,” Wanda says, smiling up at her.  Nat leaves the comfort of their room into the anti-gravity hallway, and Wanda waits until the door has closed before she asks, “What do you think we’ll find?”

 

“Not aliens,” Thor says sadly, “Which, quite frankly, is not an altogether politically correct term for them.”

 

“What would you like to call them?”

 

“It depends on their makeup.”

 

“That’s fair.  Do you think we’ll find life, though?”

 

“We have to,” Thor says, “There’s no way we’re being sent here without at least an 85% success rate.”

 

“What if we don’t?”

 

“We’ll shake our fists at space.”

 

“Rage against the machine,” Wanda says.

 

“For shame,” Thor says, “That is not how it goes.”

 

“I guarantee it’ll sound better in your Australian accent.”

 

Thor leans forward to press a kiss to her temple before he says, “Do not go gentle into that good night.  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

 

——

 

_2230 hours_

Betty looks up at the knock on their door, casting a glance over at Bruce, who shrugs without looking up from his laptop.  She leaves the warm confines of their bed to cross the room, pulling it open to find Natasha standing on the other side.

 

“I can’t sleep,” she says, and Betty hears the lie.

 

“Were you even trying?” she asks.  Natasha’s expression lets her know how likely that is.  “Come in, then.”

 

She holds open the door, and Nat pulls herself in, hitting the floor hard with the sudden adjustment of gravity.  “I can’t wait until we’re in the HAB on Europa, and we don’t have to worry about conserving energy anymore.”

 

“Can I make use of your sudden presence?” Bruce asks as he closes his laptop.

 

“Fire away, Doctor Banner,” Natasha says.

 

She lets him administer a fast physical, and then he’s jotting down a few notes before he says, “Thank you.  There’s been some interesting effects that I believe are largely in part to the increased speed we’re at.  Quill is in a bad way,” he admits.

 

“Dangerously bad?” Nat asks, following Betty over to the bed and sitting at the end, drawing her knees in against her as she leans against the wall.

 

“Bad enough,” Bruce says, “Thor seems to be fine, which is strange, but Peter has also started experiencing some difficulty.”

 

“Weeding out the weak, it seems,” Natasha says.

 

Betty kicks her.  “Knock it off,” she says, “You can be mad at Johnny all you want, but Peter has done nothing wrong.  Even still, carrying grudges like this isn’t healthy.”

 

“I thought he was the resident psychiatrist.”

 

“She’s echoing my words from an earlier conversation,” Bruce says honestly, “We’re both concerned about you.”

 

Natasha starts to unfold.  “I didn’t come here for a lecture,” she snarls.

 

“I don’t think it’s entirely up to you, however,” Bruce says, and that stops her.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I’ve noticed a certain shift in a few people’s personalities, for lack of a better word, since we started this endeavor.”

 

“Are you saying that approaching warp speed has made us all crazy?” Natasha asks, her expression one of utter disbelief.

 

“No,” Bruce says, “But I am saying that some people are experiencing physical repercussions while others are experiencing mental ones.  It’s messing with our chemical balance at varying levels, and I think it’s heightened your impatience and anger quite a bit.”

 

Nat starts to respond, and then deflates, sinking back against the wall.  “You look relieved,” Betty observes.

 

“I felt like I was going mental,” Natasha says, “I won’t disagree, I know my temper matches my hair, but still, I couldn’t quite place why this was bothering me so much.  Still, I mean.”

 

“Do you want to stay in here for the night?” Betty asks, “I assume Wanda’s with—Thor?”

 

“However did you know?” Natasha asks, unfolding again.

 

“They’ve been inseparable lately,” Betty says, “It’s rather cute, actually.”

 

“Oh god,” Nat groans, “I won’t be able to handle it.”

 

“That’s an interesting idea,” Bruce says, shifting until he can lie down, “He’s so—large.”  Betty dissolves into a fit of giggles a Nat hides her face.

 

——

 

_December 25, 2073_

_0700 hours_

_Tony: Wakey wakey, eggs and bacey._

_Johnny: That was horrible.  I’m upset with you._

_Tony: Let’s have you, lazy daisy!_

_Peter: No, stop.  It’s bad._

_Bruce: You’re showing your age._

_Tony: Time’s a’wastin’!  Let’s not—oh fucking Christ, fine.  Get up.  Now._

_Quill: Is this an emergency?_

_Bruce: Quill, stay in bed.  Peter, Nat, Sam, you too._

_Thor: Jesus, we’ve lost half our crew._

_Tony: I doubt Jesus is responsible._

_Tony: He was never good at that._

_Bruce: Responsibility?  Agreed.  What do you want?_

_Tony: Rise and shine, we’re decelerating!_

_Johnny: I’m up.  Where do you want me?_

_Tony: With me, please.  I need you in Daedalus again.  Steve’s in operations.  Bruce and Bucky, can you meet him there?_

_Bruce: Quill, Peter, Nat, Sam, please strap in and remain where you are._

_Steve: Seconded.  Everyone else, either do the same or meet us in the operations console in fifteen minutes._

_Tony: Fair warning, there might be turbulence.  We’re going to do this as slowly as possible, but it’s Christmas Day, so we may experience a few fireworks._

_Steve: Please don’t kill us._

_Johnny: We are not in the business of explosions._

_Johnny: Today._

_Tony: Or ever while in space._

_Tony: Way to be irresponsible._

_Johnny: Does that mean I get to be Jesus?_

Steve waits until he’s gotten confirmation of everyone’s whereabouts, looks around at his scattered crew, and says, “Waiting on you, Tony.”

 

“Stark and Storm,” Johnny reports back, “We should form a boy band.”

 

“I _refuse_ ,” Tony says, “Also, this is a professional channel.  Be an adult.”

 

Even Steve laughs.

 

The maneuver takes half their day.  All shields have been up for the last leg of their journey, and so they’re not awarded the view Steve is desperate for, but they’ll clear Jupiter’s orbit right before they begin a maneuver aimed toward Europa, and Tony’s promised he’ll lift all shields then.

 

It’s nothing any of them are prepared for.

 

“Shields coming up in 90 seconds,” Tony says, and Steve can’t breathe.

 

He just waits, staring at the window in front of them.

 

Without warning, he finds himself praying, and he’s not even sure what he’s praying to, just that he needs some kind of divine guidance, he needs help, he needs this to be real, he needs to know that—he stops trying to breathe.

 

Jupiter is so close, Steve feels like he could reach out and touch it.

 

It’s massive, brighter than he ever imagined possible, and the colors are so vibrant, it looks out of place in this dark wasteland.  It looms nearby like a master of the universe, like the king among planets, and it commands, even just in passing.

 

Peter, who steadfastly refused to be removed from this maneuver, lets out a broken noise and starts crying.  “Look,” he says, his voice shattering apart with something like joy.

 

Steve shifts his gaze and finds her, this beautiful, wonderful, incredible moon, lingering just in their periphery until Bucky starts to adjust course, and Jupiter fades as they come within full view of Europa, in all of her scarred, deadly glory.

 

“Preparing to adjust trajectory,” Bucky says.

 

“Stark and Storm strapped in,” Johnny reports.

 

“I will destroy you,” Tony says, “Secondary and tertiary engines have been successfully shut down in both Icarus and Daedalus.  Applying final energy reserves from the primary engine.”

 

“Brace for impact,” Steve says, and then they’re flattened back against their seats, grimacing as Icarus hurtles forward.

 

He waits, counting the seconds in his head, until Tony says, “Primary engines depleted.  Powering down.  Bucky?”

 

Bucky types a quick line of code, checks his aim, and beams as he says, “We are successfully in Europa’s orbit.”

 

“Alright,” Steve says, unbuckling, “Nat, Sam, I’ll expect you in the operations console in five.  Tony, please close off access to Daedalus.”  It takes all of a second before everyone is gathered, and Steve looks around at them, this overwhelming surge of pride squaring his shoulders as he inhales.

 

“He’s gonna do it,” Peter whispers, hitting Johnny’s arm.

 

Steve exhales a soft laugh.  “Europa is calling,” he says, “and we must go.”

 

——

 

_January 1, 2074_

_0800 hours_

“Okay, but—”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Steve!  Together, or not at all!”

 

“Which is a plan brewed with idiocy and excitement.  A bad combination.”

 

“You’re the worst.”

 

“I agree.  Now, draw a straw.”

 

“You’d think,” Bruce says, holding his own, “that NASA might come up with something better than drawing straws to see who steps outside first.”

 

“They did,” Steve says, “I rejected it.”

 

“What, chain of command?  The lowest of us gets to be the sacrifice?” Thor asks, taking a straw.

 

“It would end up being one of you,” Steve says, holding out the straws to Quill next.

 

“That’s rude,” he says, plucking a straw out.

 

Steve finishes handing one out to everyone, and then they compare.  “I need to sit down,” Peter says.

 

“Dude!” Tony exclaims, “I totally tried to rig that for you, you’re welcome!”

 

“You can’t rig straw drawing,” Betty says.

 

“Wanda, Thor, and I were exuding super vibes,” Tony says delightedly as he starts jostling Peter.

 

“Is this okay?” Peter directs the question to Steve.

 

“You’ve got the shortest straw,” Steve says, “As long as you’re willing.”

 

“Absolutely!  When do we do it?”

 

“Now,” Steve says, “Are you ready?”

 

“I have to pee, hang on,” Peter says, and then he’s gone, nearly floating out of the room though they’ve finally switched the gravity back on.

 

Quill raises a hand, and Steve sighs at him.  “I’d like to say, I think it was highly inappropriate that I was included in these proceedings, considering I can’t even stand at the moment.”

 

“That’s why you’re the best sacrifice,” Sam says.

 

Bucky punches him.  Sam grins, all teeth.

 

“I’m fairly certain you can stand,” Bruce interrupts, “And I would recommend it.”

 

“Oh, but it hurts,” Quill complains even as Thor starts to pull him upright.

 

“How is your head?” Bruce asks.

 

“Substantially better after a few days in gravity, actually, so that’s awesome.  I hate to sound optimistic, but breathing’s not a shit show anymore, either.”

 

“We’ll go through a full physical later,” Bruce says, “But thank you for keeping me updated.”

 

“Alright!” Peter’s voice echoes back toward them.

 

Steve thinks his excitement might wane as they get him ready, particularly as Tony starts drilling him on what he’s to do as soon as he’s out, but it just grows until even Steve’s trying to fight a smile.  They get him suited up, do final checks, and, nearly two hours since they drew straws, Peter waves as they close him into the airlock.  Tony locks them in, presses a hand against the small, circular window, and steps back.

 

“Okay,” Peter says softly, turning toward the door standing between him and _everything_.

 

He inhales slowly, forcing himself to take a few calming breaths before he starts to initiate spacewalk protocols until the only thing left is opening the door.  “Johnny,” he says.

 

“Go boldly where no man has gone before.”

 

Peter exhales, his smile wide.  He opens the door, inching it open into the airlock until he can step out, and before he’s allowed a view, he turns, pulling it back shut, locking himself out of Icarus.

 

He pauses, staring at the outer edge of the door.  He hears someone start to say his name, and stop, and so he finally turns, to take in all that Europa has to offer them.

 

“Peter?” Tony finally prompts.

 

“ _Wow_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOSH. I can't believe we've finished the third fic in the space au! This seems crazy, that this is already almost over. I just finished chapter two of the Europa fic last night, and it seems wild to me that this incredible journey is coming to an end. They've come so far, and changed so much as people since the beginning, and, quite frankly, I'm proud of them. Also, I fucking love you guys. Some of you have been following from the beginning, and you're amazing. All of you. Every single one of you reading--you rock. I can't wait for you to see what's coming up.
> 
> Don't forget to leave your thoughts!


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